The Paul Cain Omnibus (59 page)

Kells stood up. “Bring me my clothes,” he said.

Granquist didn’t move. She stood staring at Woodward blankly. “

Bring me my clothes,” Kells said gently.

Borg went swiftly to the bedroom door, past Granquist into the bedroom. He came back almost immediately with a tangled mass of clothes under his arm. He held a short blunt revolver in one hand, down straight at his side.

Granquist went to a chair against one wall and picked up her coat and put it on. She went to the table and stood with both hands on the table, leaning forward a little.

Kells sat down and took his clothes from Borg, one piece at a time, put them on.

The phone rang.

Kells picked it up, said: “Hello…. Shep—we’re shoving off. Woodward’s just been shot—through the window, from the roof of the place next door…. Uh-huh. And he paid off with marked bills, so there’s probably someone waiting outside to make a pinch… Maybe some of Crotti’s boys tailed Fenner—your guess is as good as mine…. Call me in a half hour at the Lancaster. If I’m not there I’ll be in jail—or on a slab…Hell! No. Let ’em find him…. ’Bye.”

He hung up, finished dressing rapidly. He got up and limped to one side of the big window and pulled the cord that closed the drapes. Woodward’s hand was clenched on the bottom of one of the drapes and it moved a little as the drape closed. The paper had fallen, lay a little way from his other hand.

Kells stood looking down at Woodward for a minute, then he went to the table and picked up the two thin stacks of money and put them in his pocket. Granquist said, “My God, Gerry—don’t take them if they’re marked.”

He glanced at her and smiled with one side of his mouth. “Let’s go,” he said.

Borg had gone back into the bedroom. He came into the doorway and he had put on his shirt and coat; he went to a mirror near the outer door and put on his hat.

Granquist stooped and picked up the crutches.

Kells shook his head, said: “My leg feels swell.”

They went out into the corridor.

There was a man standing near the elevators but he paid no attention to them, entered one of the elevators while they were still halfway down the hall.

They waited a minute or so, got into the same elevator when it came back up. It was automatic—Kells pushed the sub-basement button.

He said: “Maybe….”

Borg watched the sixth floor go by through the little wired-glass window. “The basement is as good a hunch as any,”he said. “There’s a garage with a driveway out onto Cherokee. Maybe we can promote a car—or if we can get down to Highland, to the cab stand….”

“Why didn’t you call a cab?” Granquist was leaning back in a corner of the elevator.

Kells looked at her vacantly, as if he hadn’t heard.

“Maybe this is a lot of hooey,” he said—“maybe we’re a cinch. But if that was Crotti”—he gestured with his head up toward the apartment—“he’ll have a dozen beads on the place.”

The elevator stopped and they went into a dark corridor, down to a door to the garage. There was a tall man with a very small mustache asleep in a big car near the archway that led out into Cherokee. He woke up when Borg stepped on the running board.

Borg asked: “How’re chances of renting a car?”

The man rubbed his eyes, climbed out and stood between Kells and Borg. He said: “Sure. I got a Buick an’ I got a Chrysler.”

“Are either of them closed?” Kells leaned on Granquist’s shoulder, winked at Borg meaningly.

The man said: “Yeah—the Buick.”

He went towards a car five down the line from the one he had been sleeping in.

Kells said: “That’ll do. How much deposit do you want?”

“You want a driver?”

“No.”

Borg opened one rear door of the car and helped Granquist in. The man said: “No deposit if you live here. It’s two an’ a quarter an hour.”

“Maybe we’ll be out all night—you’d better take this.” Kells gave the man two bills, got in through the front door carefully. He put his leg out straight under the dashboard.

Borg went around to the other side and squeezed in behind the wheel. He pressed the starter, and the man reached in and pulled the choke and the engine roared. Borg scowled at the man and pushed the choke back in. They swung in a wide circle out through the archway into the sunlight.

Kells turned and spoke sharply to Granquist: “Lie down on the seat.”

She muttered something unintelligible and lay down on her side across the back seat.

They turned swiftly down Cherokee, and a spurt of flame came out of a close-curtained limousine to meet them, lead thudded, bit into the side of the car. Borg stepped on the throttle, they plunged forward, past.

Kells looked back at Granquist. She was lying with her eyes tightly closed and her face was very white. He put one arm back towards her and she rose suddenly to her knees, put her hands on his shoulder.

He smiled. “We’re all right, baby,” he said softly. “They build these cars in Detroit—that’s machinegun country.”

Borg was crouched over the wheel. He spoke out of the side of his mouth: “Are they coming?”

Kells was looking back, shook his head. “They’re turning around—they were parked the wrong way.”

Granquist slid back to the seat.

They turned west on Yucca to Highland, jogged up Highland to Franklin, turned west on Franklin. They stopped between Sycamore and La Brea a little while and watched through the glass oval in the back of the car; the limousine had evidently been lost.

Borg got out and looked at the side of the car.

“It must have jammed,” he said. “Four little holes, and a nick on one of the headlights. One of ’em missed the carburetor by about an inch—that was a break.”

Kells said: “Let’s go over and see how Faber is making out.”

Kells was leaning back in his seat. “So they’re finally getting around to machineguns….” He straightened and glanced back at Granquist. “Now we know it’s Crotti. Maybe….”

She nodded. “I think I remember that black car,” she said. “It’s one he’s been using out of Long Beach.”

“Let’s go over and see how Faber is making out,” Kells said.

Borg climbed back into the car and they went on up Franklin to La Brea and down La Brea to Fountain. At the corner of Fountain and Harper they parked under a big pepper tree.

Kells turned around and spoke to Granquist: “You take this car—you can drive it, can’t you?—and go down to the Lancaster and wait for us.” He reached into his pocket, fished out a key. “Go up to my room and pack all the stuff that isn’t already packed. Call up the Santa Fe and tell ’em to send the reservations there. If we get everything cleaned up tonight, we’ll drive down to San Bernardino and lay low tomorrow and get the
Chief
out of there tomorrow night.”

Kells and Borg got out of the car, and Granquist climbed over into the front seat. She said, “Be careful,” without looking at Kells, and there was something resigned and a little bitter in the way she said it. She shifted gears and let the clutch in a little way and the car moved ahead.

Kells said: “Beery’ll be calling in a little while. Tell him to come up to the hotel as soon as he can.”

Granquist nodded without turning and the car moved ahead swiftly.

Kells and Borg crossed to the west side of Harper and walked slowly up towards Sunset Boulevard. Kells’ limp was pronounced.

Borg asked: “How is it?” He ducked his head towards Kells’ leg.

“All right.”

They went slowly and without speaking up Harper, and a little way below the Villa Dora, Faber stuck his head out of Borg’s car. They went over to it and Kells got into the tonneau and sat down; Borg stood outside, leaned on the front door.

Faber said: “Nothing yet.”

Kells sat for several minutes staring absently at a long scratch on the back of the front seat. Then he said: “Let’s go in and see what we can find.” He leaned forward.

Faber lifted the flap of the right side pocket, slipped a black Luger out onto the seat beside him. He turned and looked at Kells and nodded at the gun. Kells said, “Yes,” absently, and reached over and took the gun and stuck it into the waistband of his trousers, pulled the points of his vest down over it.

“We’re going in to try to find a hundred and fifteen grand in cash,” he said. “I don’t know who’s got it—we’ll have to try the mailboxes and see if we can get a lead.”

Borg said: “We probably won’t.”

Kells opened the door and started to get out.

“Why don’t you wait here and I’ll see if I can find anything?” Borg took a light-colored cigar out of his outer breast pocket and bit off the end.

Kells looked at him a moment sleepily, nodded, and sat down.

Borg went up the street and disappeared into the Villa Dora. He was back in a few minutes with a soiled envelope on which he had scrawled the names of all the occupants.

Kells took it, looked at it, and asked: “Are you sure this is all?”

“Yeah.” Borg nodded. “It’s a big joint, but I guess the apartments are big too—there are only twelve mailboxes.”

Kells studied the names. Then he said: “MacAlmon—that’s Bellmann’s silksock ward heeler. I thought he lived in Beverly Hills.” He stared at the envelope. “That’d be a tricky piece of business—if MacAlmon was go-between on the white stuff. I can figure his tie-up with Max Hesse—if Hesse is really the buyer—but how the hell would Crotti get to him?”

Faber looked interested at the mention of Crotti’s name. He said: “Maybe this would be more fun for me if I knew what it was all about.”

Borg said: “Crotti’s delivering a load of C, and the hundred and fifteen we want to locate is what somebody up there”—he jerked his head towards the apartment house—“has got to pay for it with.”

“Oh.” Faber turned to Kells. “Count me out—I don’t want any part of Crotti.”

Kells smiled slowly. He said: “Okay.”

Faber started to get out of the car and then he looked at Kells’ hands; Kells had slipped the Luger out of his waistband, was holding it loosely on his lap.

Borg said: “Aw for God’s sake, cut it out.” He looked from Kells to Faber.

Kells was smiling faintly at Faber. He said very seriously: “Your cut is ten grand. You’ve got one coming now—an’ you can have it, but you’ll have to stick around until this is over.” He put his hand into his pocket and slid out a roll of bills, pulled one off and held it towards Faber.

Faber looked at it a little while, then he grinned sourly, said: “Well—if I’ve got to stay I might as well work.” He took the bill, folded it carefully and put it into his watch pocket. “Deal me in—ten grand’ll buy a lot of flowers.”

“Me—I want to be cremated.” Borg was staring soberly into space. “No flowers, but plenty of music.” He glanced at Kells. “You know—Wagner.”

Kells said: “Let’s go and see if Mister MacAlmon is in.”

He and Faber got out of the car and they all went up the street and into the Villa Dora.

Mister MacAlmon was in. He stood in the middle of his big, highceilinged living room with his hands in the air.

Kells said: “I’m sorry about this. I haven’t anything against you or Hesse—if Hesse is in with you on it. But I’ve got plenty against Crotti, and plenty against your whole bloody combination. I’ve been out here five or six months and I’ve been double-crossed to death. I’m goddamned tired of it—and I need the dough.”

MacAlmon was almost as tall as Kells. His thick brown hair was combed straight back from a high narrow forehead, and his eyes were dark, sharp.

He said: “This is plain robbery. How far do you think you’re going to get with it?”

“Don’t be silly,” Kells looked at the stack of currency on the table. “I’ll have the Federal narcotic squad on their way out here in two minutes—and I’ll see that you’re here when they get here. Then all they’ll have to do is wait for the stuff to come in. When you’re pinched on a dope deal that’s this big, see who you can get to listen to a squawk about money.”

Borg was leaning against the outer door, spinning the blunt revolver around his forefinger. Faber had waited outside.

Kells went to the telephone on a low round table, picked it up. “I’ve never called ‘copper’ on anybody in my life,” he said. “But here it is….” He spun the dial.

MacAlmon put his hands down. He said: “Wait a minute.” He sat down in a big chair and leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. He looked at Kells and his face was flushed and he tried very hard to smile. “Wait a minute.”

Kells said into the telephone: “Information—what’s the number of the Federal Building?” He waited a moment and then said, “Thank you,” pressed the receiver down with his thumb.

MacAlmon said: “How would you like to make twenty-five more?” He inclined his head towards the money on the table.

“This is enough.” Kells shook his head. “All I want is a fair price for the time I’ve put in. This is it.”

MacAlmon leaned back in the chair. “The stuff that’s being delivered here this afternoon is worth exactly twice what’s being paid for it, to me—my people,” he said. “I don’t care who gets the money—if you’ll hold off until the transfer has been made and the stuff is in my possession, I’ll give you a twenty-five grand bonus.”

Kells said: “No.”

Someone knocked at the door.

Borg pressed his lips together and let his eyelids droop, shook his head sadly. He held the blunt black revolver loosely in his hand and looked at Kells.

Kells framed the word, “Faber,” with his lips. Borg kept on shaking his head. Kells took the Luger out of his belt and crossed the room and stood close to the wall; he nodded slightly to Borg.

Crotti and two other men came in. One of the men was carrying a big pigskin kitbag; one carried two. Crotti looked at MacAlmon and then he turned his head and looked at Borg. He hadn’t seen Kells. The man with one bag put it down on the floor, straightened. Borg closed the door.

Kells said: “Hello.”

The man who had been carrying one bag took one step sidewise towards Borg. At the same time he jerked an automatic out of a shoulder holster, sank to one knee and swung the automatic up toward Borg. Borg’s gun roared twice.

Crotti had taken two or three steps forward. His head was turned towards Kells and his black wide-set eyes were big, his thick red mouth hung a little open.