I'll Get You For This (11 page)

"Who's Brodey?"

"Herrick's lawyer. He's at 458 Bradshaw Avenue. He lives with his daughter."

"Will he take over from Herrick?"

  Davis shook his head.- "Not a chance. He ain't built for a fight with Killeano. No, I guess he'll stay put and let Killeano walk it."

  I made a note of the address.

  "Ever thought why Herrick went so much to the Casino?" I asked.

  "Yeah, but it didn't get me anywhere. He was trying to turn up some dirt, but whether he got it or not I wouldn't know."

  "I think he did and that's why he was rubbed," I said. "Ever heard of Lois Spence?"

  "Ever heard of Mae West?" he returned, grinning. "Lois is famous around here."

  "Killeano know her?"

  "Even I know her. She's balanced that light a breath of wind would blow her over."

  "So she knew Killeano?"

  "Yeah, about two years ago they were like that." He crossed his two fingers. "That was before Killeano took over the town. When he got into power he ditched her. Had to, I guess. You can't run a town and Lois at the same time: both are full-time jobs."

  "Herrick went around with her too?"

  "Yeah, but there was nothing to that, although some mudslingers tried to make something out of it. My guess is he was using her to dig up dirt on Killeano, and she strung him along, took his dough and gave him nothing."

"He paid her to play the tables at the Casino."

  That surprised him. He stared at me, lifted his hat, combed his hair while he thought. "Why did he do that?" he asked at last, putting the comb away.

  "He took the dough she had won and gave her other notes in exchange. Looks like he suspected the Casino of passing dud notes."

  Davis brooded. "Well, that's an idea," he said, "but it wouldn't be easy, and no one's complained."

  "It might be worth checking. Could you do that?"

  He nodded. "I guess I could. I go there off and on. I could sniff around."

  "If you knew what you were looking for, it might not be so tough."

  "Well, I can dig a little."

  "This guy Gomez seems a tough egg."

  Davis grinned. "I'll say. You met him? Take my tip and| keep out of his way. He's dynamite."

  "I've met him," I said, shrugging. "I was with Lois when he blew in. It took my reputation and the Luger to hold him. I thought I'd have to shoot him he was so mad, but Lois grabbed him and I got out. He was the one who started the Law on the move."

  "He's a bad guy," Davis said, shaking his head. "He doesn't I like anyone hanging around Lois unless it's strictly business. One guy thought he was soft. Gomez shot him. It was fixed to look like suicide, but I know how it happened."

  "Kind of jealous, eh?"

  "He certainly is, and as hot-blooded as a stove."

  "What do you know about a cat-house along the waterfront? Who owns it?"

  "Speratza."

  "Sure?"

  Davis nodded. "It's the only joint of its kind in town. He must have plenty of protection to keep it open, and he makes a good thing out of it."

  "Huh-uh," I said, giving myself another drink. I passed the bottle to Davis. "And Flaggerty? Anything on him?"

  "He's Killeano's stooge. He puts up a front, of course, but Killeano pulls the strings; he jumps. There's nothing to him. He's just another crooked cop."

  "He helped in Herrick's killing."

  Davis paused in pouring his drink. "The hell he did?"

  "Yeah," I said. "About Herrick. Was he married?"

  "No. He lived in an apartment with a guy called Giles who looked after him. Give you the address if you want it."

  "Where?"

  "Macklin Avenue. It lies off Bradshaw Avenue. But you won't get anything out of Giles I talked to him. He doesn't know anything.

  "Maybe he'll talk to me." I got up. "I guess I'll pay some calls."

  "They're still looking for you," Davis reminded me. "And it's getting on for midnight."

  "We'll get 'em out of bed."

  "We?"

  "Sure, I'm going with you. They won't expect me to be with you."

  He produced his comb again and ran it through his hair. "Say, that's not such a hot idea," he said. "I gotta keep in the clear. How'd I look if they spotted you with me?"

  I smiled at him. "Come on," I said. "You and I are going on a little trip. First we'll go to Macklin Avenue and then Bradshaw. You got a car?"

  He nodded.

  "Fine. I'll be tucked up in the back under a rug. That way the cops won't worry us and we'll get places."

  "I can always say I didn't know you were there," he said, his face brightening. "Okay, let's go."

I lay under the rug on the floor of Davis's battered Ford and sweated. Davis sweated too, at least, he said he was sweating. "Gawd!" he exclaimed, "the place is lousy with cops. Any second now they'll start shooting." "That's okay," I said. "They're not likely to hit me. I'm too well protected down here." "But I'm not," Davis grunted. He braked sharply. "That's torn it. They're signalling to me." 'Keep your shirt on," I said, feeling for my gun. "Maybe they want to ask the time. You know what coppers are."

"Quiet!" he hissed dramatically

I relaxed, waited.

  Voices came out of the night. Feet scraped on the road. What the hell are you doing out here?" a voice growled into the car.

  "Hello, Macey," Davis said. 'I'm just passing through. How's the battle coming? You caught him yet?"

  "We will," the voice said. "Where are you going?"

  "Home," Davis said. "Think I'll get through?"

  "You might, only don't blame me if one of the boys shoots you. The streets aren't healthy."

  "You telling me," Davis said. "I've had twenty heart attacks in so many minutes."

  The cop laughed. "Well, don't try any speeding. You'll be okay at the top of the road. We've just been through this district. The punk's as good as the invisible man."

"Thanks," Davis said, and eased in his clutch. "Be seeing you."

The car moved on.

"Phew!" Davis said after a while. "I'm shaking like a jelly."

"That shouldn't be hard for you to do," I said. "What's it I look like?"

  "He's signalled me through. There're cops all along the street glaring at me, but that's all they're doing. If there are any of them up at Herrick's place we'd better skip it."

  "Have a drink and calm down," I said, sliding the bottle we'd taken from Tim's place over the back of the seat.

  Gurgling sounds followed.

  "Leave me some," I said sharply.

  "You don't need it like I do," Davis said, but he dropped the bottle back. It hit my head.

  "Hey!" I said. "Do you want to brain me?"

  "I wouldn't mind," Davis replied, accelerating. "You can come out now. The cops are out of sight."

  I threw off the rug, sat up, wiping my face. We were in a narrow street lined on each side by neat villas.

  "We're just there," Davis said. "Next street."

  As I was looking, a big brown Plymouth sedan shot round the corner, and belted down the street towards us. Davis gave ft startled snort and swerved violently to the right. The Plymouth I missed us by a couple of inches, and was gone.

  "The crazy loon!" Davis exclaimed. "What's his hurry?"

  "Maybe he remembered a heavy date," I said. "Don't let a little thing like that disturb you."

  We turned the comer, pulled up outside a small villa.

  "This is Herrick's place," Davis said. "Want me to come in?"

I shook my head. "You and me had better not be seen together," I said.

  "Yeah," he said, reaching over the back of his seat. He found the bottle and patted it lovingly. "I can keep myself amused."

  I left him and walked up the path to the house. No lights showed. I thumbed the bell, waited. Somewhere in the house the bell rang, but no one answered. I rang again, thinking the man, Giles, was asleep. But after five minutes of continuous ringing, I decided no one was home.

  Davis stuck his head out of the car window. "Bust down the door," he said. He sounded a little tight.

  I went round to peer in a window. There was enough moonlight to see something of the room. I found myself staring at a large desk. The drawers were open, papers were scattered on the floor. I looked closer and saw an arm-chair had been ripped to pieces.

  "Hey," I called to Davis. "Come here."

  Muttering under his breath, he heaved his bulk out of the car and joined me.

  He peered through the window, saw what I had seen, stepped back.

  "Looks like someone's been going over the joint," he said, producing his little ivory comb. He combed his hair thoughtfully. "That's good liquor of Tim's," he went on. "I think I'll have another shot. My nerves are kind of unsteady."

  I tapped, broke a small section of glass near the window catch, opened the window.

  "Hey," Davis said, his eyes round. "What do you think you're doing?"

  "I'm going in there to take a look," I said.

  "I'll stick around and toot on the horn if any buttons show," Davis said, moving towards the car.

  "And leave that bottle alone," I said.

  I had a look round the room. Someone had gone over it carefully. There wasn't anything in one piece. Even the stuffing in the chairs and settee had been hauled out and sifted through.

I went over the house. Each room had been treated in the same way.

  Upstairs in the front bedroom I came upon a man in white pyjamas. He was lying half across the bed, the back of his head had been smashed in. I touched his hand. He was still warm; but he was dead. It looked as if the killer had surprised him in bed, and had bust him before he could raise the alarm.

  I went down the stairs, opened the front door, called Davis.

  "Come upstairs," I said.

  We went up. Davis looked at the man.

  "That's Giles," he said, making a little grimace. "Hell! We'd better get out of here."

  "He hasn't been dead more than a few minutes," I said, staring down at the dead man. "Think that Plymouth's anything to do with this?"

  "I wouldn't know," Davis said, moving to the head of the stairs. "All I know is if Flaggerty finds us here, we're dead pigeons."

  "I guess you're right at that."

  We went down the stairs and out of the house.

  The night was quiet now. The searchlights had ceased to I grope in the sky. Gunfire no longer sounded. It was hot and still.

  We got in the car.

  "You're passing up a good story," I said, looking at Davis with a grin.

  "I'll wait until they find him," he said, starting the engine. "I'm not sticking my glass chin out by telling them he's there. They might tie me to it."

  He let in the clutch and we shot away from the kerb.

"Is this where Brodey hangs out?" I asked, as Davis stopped the car in front of a big house on

Macklin Avenue.

  "Across the way," Davis said, pointing. "I'm not parking before any more death houses. Jeese! That was a dumb trick. If a copper had seen us come out—–"

  "Forget it," I said, getting out of the car. "Show me the place, and don't get so excited."

  "Excited? For crying out loud! I don't like running into corpses that haven't been turned up by the cops. It's too dangerous."

  We crossed the road. Somewhere out of sight a car engine roared.

  Davis paused in mid-stride.

  "Hear that?" he said, clutching my arm.

  "Come on," I said, and started forward.

  Brodey's house was big, and it stood back from the street. . The garden was full of palms and tropical shrubs. It was difficult to see much of the house from where we were.

  As we approached the front gates, which stood open, we heard the car coming down the drive. We ducked back into the shadows. The brown Plymouth sedan shot into the street, belted away. It was out of sight before we got over our surprise.

  I had caught a glimpse of a man who was driving, but I couldn't see much of him. The car was fitted with curtains which happened to billow out as the car passed me. That was how I saw the man; Davis didn't see him at all.

  "Looks bad for Brodey," I said, and began to run up the drive.

  Davis panted along behind me. "Think he's been knocked off ?" he groaned.

  "Looks like it, doesn't it?" I said. "Same car. Same hurry to get away. They're after something pretty important."

  A turn in the drive brought us to a big Spanish house that was in darkness.

  "If they've killed Brodey, there'll be a hell of a stink," Davis gasped, following me up the steps.

"They're sitting pretty," I said, "so long as they can pin it on me; and that's what they'll do."

  "Then what the hell am I doing trailing around with you?" Davis demanded. "If you're the killer, what am I?"

  "Ask the judge . . . he'll tell you."

  I touched the front door; it swung open.

  "Looks bad," I said.

  "I'm not coming in," Davis said, backing away. "I'm scared, Cain. This is getting too deep for me."

  "Take it easy," I said. "Stick around. Don't run out on me now."

  "I'll stick, but I ain't coming in."

  "What's the matter with you? This may turn out to be front page news."

  "I'd sooner find it without you being around," Davis said, shaking his head. "If they're going to pin it on you, they'll book me as a material witness or something."

  I left him arguing with himself, and entered the dark lobby. This time I'd brought a flashlight from the car. I looked into the various rooms that led off the lobby. They were undisturbed, but when I came to the last door at the end of the passage, I found what I expected to find. The room was Brodey's study. It was big and well-furnished and equipped like an office. Here, a search had been made. Papers were strewn on the floor, desk drawers Herrick's place. The chairs hadn't been ripped open, nor had the pictures been taken off the walls.