I'll Get You For This (12 page)

  There was no one in the room, and I stood looking round, wondering what to do next. It was a big house to go over; I didn't know how many servants were sleeping upstairs: but I had to know if Brodey was dead.

  As I turned to the door I heard or sensed something which made me feel I wasn't alone. I snapped off the flashlight and stood motionless, listening. I heard nothing. The room was as black as tar. I eased the Luger out, and held it down by my side. Still no sound. I crept cautiously to the door, reached it. Nothing happened. I stood listening. No developments. I touched the door, peeped into the passage. It was dark out there and silent. I kept still, listened, and tried to see through the darkness. I stayed there a long minute, listening. There wasn't a sound in the house, nor in the street outside, yet I was sure I wasn't alone. I could sense the presence of someone, and that someone wasn't far off.

  I waited, hoping whoever it was out there had weaker nerves than I had. It was a nasty business standing half in and half out of the room in darkness and silence, waiting for someone's nerve to crack.

  Then I heard something. It was an almost soundless sound, and at first I couldn't place it. After listening carefully I realized it was someone breathing near me. It gave me a spooked feeling.

  Slowly I raised my flash until it was pointing in the direction of the breathing. Then I pressed the button, ready to jump if someone opened up with a gun.

  The harsh beam of the flashlight lit up the passage. There was a choked gasp of terror which made the hair on the back of my neck bristle. I found myself staring at a girl crouched against the passage wall. She was slight, young, about eighteen, pretty in an immature way; chestnut hair, brown eyes. She was wearing a black and gold kimono and the trousers of her pyjamas were dark blue silk.

  She stayed motionless, her eyes empty with terror, her mouth formed in a soundless scream.

  I guessed she was Brodey's daughter.

  "Miss Brodey," I said sharply. "It's all right. I'm sorry if I scared you. I'm looking for your father."

  She shivered and her eyes rolled up. Before I could move she had slipped to the floor. I bent over her. She was out cold.

  I slipped the Luger back into its holster and picked her up.

  She was thin and light, and I could feel her ribs under the silk kimono. I carried her into the study and put her on the settee.

  Silence brooded over the house. I wondered if there was anyone else in the place.

  I went to the front door, but Davis wasn't in sight. I found him by the car, his head back and

the bottle to his mouth. I moved silently up to him and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Got you!" I said in a gruff voice.

  Davis didn't jump more than a couple of feet, and hollered, "Yow-ee!" He nearly swallowed the bottle. I took it away from him with one hand, thumped him on his beefy back with the other. After a while he recovered from his choking fit.

  "You loon," he gasped. "You scared me silly."

  "Come on," I said. "I want you."

  "Don't tell me you've dug up another corpse?" he asked, alarmed.

  "Not yet, but Brodey's daughter has thrown an ing-bing. She's nice, and she's got on a kimono."

  "Japanese style, eh?" he said, interested. "Well, maybe I'd better come at that."

  Miss Brodey was lying where I had left her. She looked small and pathetic.

  "The idea is to put her head between her knees and a key on the back of her neck," Davis said, combing his hair.

  "That's for nose bleed, you dope," I said. "At least, the key part of it is."

  "Well, give her some Scotch," he advised. "I bet Brodey's got a bottle somewhere around."

  He found it after a short, intensive search, took a long swig himself.

  "Not bad," he said, shaking his head at the bottle. "Lawyers always do themselves well."

  I sampled the Scotch too. He was right.

  "Well, come on," Davis said. "This is no time for boozing. Let's get this kid on her feet. Scraggy little thing, ain't she?"

  "She'll ripen," I said, and lifted the girl's head. I forced whisky between her clenched teeth. It brought her round after a while, and her eyes fluttered at me.

  "Bet she asks where she is," Davis muttered. "They always do."

  But she didn't. She took one look at me and dived off the settee to the wall. She gave us the fright of our lives. "Now take it easy," I said.

  "Let me handle this," Davis said, "She knows me." He advanced towards the girl with a kindly leer on his fat face. "Hi, Miss Brodey, remember me? Jed Davis of the Morni
ng Star?
We heard there was trouble up here and blew in. What's wrong, baby?"

  She stared at him, tried to speak.

  "Now don't get upset," he went on gently. "Come and sit down and tell me all about it."

  "He's taken him away," she blurted out in a thin, hysterical voice. "He made him go with him."

  Davis led her back to the settee. "All right, kid," he said. "We'll fix it. Just sit down and tell us about it."

  She gave me a scared look. I stood behind her so she couldn't see me. Davis was patting her hand, clucking over her. I was surprised at his technique.

  He got the story out of her inch by inch. She told us she'd been asleep, and voices coming from her father's study had woken her. She'd gone down. The study door was ajar and she peeped in. Brodey was up against the wall with his hands in the air. A man in a brown suit was threatening him with a gun. She heard the brown man say: "Okay, if that's the way you want to play it. Come on, we'll go for a ride." She wanted to get help, but she was too scared to move. The brown man hustled Brodey out of the room. It was dark in the passage and neither of them saw her. They went out the front door, and a moment or so later she heard a car drive away. Then I showed up.

  Davis and I exchanged glances.

  "Seen this guy before?" Davis asked.

  She shook her head. She was shivering with shock and looked as if she'd pass out any moment.

  Davis tried to make her take another drink, but she wouldn't; she kept saying: "You must get him back. Please. Don't sit there. Get him back."

  "We'll get him back," Davis assured her, "but we must know who took him. What was this guy like?"

  "Short and thickset," she said, putting her hands over her eyes. "He was horrible—like an ape."

  "Did he have a scar down the side of his face?" Davis asked, stiffening.

  She nodded.

  "Know him?" I asked.

  "I guess so," Davis said, his eyes popping. "Sounds like Bat Thompson, Killeano's strong man. He's one of the tough boys from Detroit, and make no mistake, brother, he's tough."

  "Know where we can find him?"

  "I know where he hangs out," Davis said. "But we don't want to find him. He's a guy best left alone."

  "Where does he hang out?"

  "Sam Sansotta's gambling joint."

  "Okay. Let's see how tough he is."

  Davis sighed. "I knew you were going to say that. You're a nice reckless sort of a punk for me to fall in with."

  "Get the police," Miss Brodey said, crying.

  "We'll get everybody," Davis said, patting her shoulder. "Now go to bed and wait. We'll get your poppa back for you."

  We left her sitting on the settee, her eyes like great holes in a sheet.

  "Listen, Cain," Davis said, when we reached the car. "You ain't really going to call on Bat, are you?"

  "Why not? We want Brodey, don't we?"

"Listen, Bat'll tear your ears off. He's a bad hombre. You're not going to scare him."

"I can try," I said, getting into the car.

"My pal," Davis said, but he got in too.

  Sansotta's gambling joint was at the far end of the coast road, leading out of Paradise Palms. It was a squat building, three storeys high; a broad verandah, on which stood tables and chairs, circled the building. Beyond, two large glass doors gave on to the main hall.

  Although it was after one o'clock, the place was still lit up. A number of people sat on the verandah, and dancing was going on in the hall.

  Davis parked his car on the opposite side of the road, reached for the bottle, swished it round, drained it. He threw the bottle at the sandy beach.

  "My need's greater than yours, pal," he said.

  I was studying the lay-out of the place. You don't think you're going to walk in there and bring Brodey out, do you?" Davis went on, mopping his face with a not over-clean handkerchief.

  "That's the general idea," I said. 'Superman stuff, eh?"

  "That's it."

  "Well, count me out. I'm too big a target to take Bat on. He's a killer."

  "So am I," I reminded him.

  He looked at me. "Well, brother, I'll be sitting out here admiring the view. I'll write you a nice obituary when they carry you out. What flowers would you like?"

  "You're coming in. I'm a stranger seeing Paradise Palms for the first time, and you're showing me around. Somehow you're going to get me upstairs because that's where Brodey is."

  "Oh no," Davis said emphatically. "Not me. I'm staying right here, keeping my nose clean. I'm not easily scared, but that guy Bat sure makes my flesh creep."

  I stuck my Luger into his fat ribs. "You're going in," I said, giving him the hard eye, "or I'll make holes in you."

  He looked at me, saw I meant business, sighed.

  "Well, maybe I'll go buy a drink," he said. "No harm in that, is there?"

  He opened the car door and we walked across the road, up the steps into the brightly-lit hall.

  No one took any notice of us. We went to the bar. The-barman nodded to Davis and set up a bottle. He seemed to know Davis.

  We had a couple of snorts before a thin little man with polished black hair, polished black eyes and a paper-thin mouth came out from behind a curtain and joined us.

  " 'Lo, Sansotta," Davis said, tipping his hat. "Here's a pal of mine who's blown in looking for a good time. George, this is Sansotta, I was telling you about."

  I nodded to the little man, thinking he looked a tough egg in spite of his size.

  "Hi yah," I said. "Glad to know you."

  He nodded. His puss didn't reveal anything.

  "Nice town you have here," I said, like I thought he owned the burg.

  "Fair," he said, looking around the room. His eyes were continually on the move.

  I trod on Davis's foot.

  He grunted, then said, "Any poker going on tonight? My pal's anxious to lose his roll."

  Sansotta looked me over, and then looked at Davis. He raised his eyebrows.

  Davis nodded. "He's okay."

  "He can go up. They're playing in room 5."

  "Thanks," I said, finishing my drink. "Coming?" I said to Davis.

  He shook his head. "I'll stick around for a drink or two, then beat it. You can get a taxi back."

"Okay," I said, and started up the stairs.

Half-way up, I glanced back, paused.

  Flaggerty appeared in the main doorway. He was still wearing his green gaberdine suit, and a cigar burned unevenly between his teeth. He was scowling as he joined Davis at the bar.

  I shot up the stairs and out of sight, glancing back after I'd rounded the corner to make sure he hadn't seen me. He hadn't. Davis was combing his hair, a fixed grin on his face. Flaggerty was buying himself a drink.

  I walked along the passage to room 5, listened to the hum of voices from inside and then moved on. There were three other doors in the passage, but I didn't bother with them. I headed for the second lot of stairs.

  Half-way up I heard someone coming along the lower passage; I took the remaining stairs three at a time. I found myself in a dimly lit passage with two doors facing me.

  Footsteps went along the lower passage, a door opened and then shut.

  I stepped over to the first door facing me and listened. Silence. I moved along to the next door, listened. A voice was speaking, but the words were lost. I stood there, my ear to the panel, waited. Then I heard a muffled groan that set my teeth on edge. I was sure Brodey, was in there.

  Any moment Sansotta might discover I wasn't in room 5 playing poker. As soon as he'd found that out, he'd be looking for me. If I was going to do anything, I'd have to do it now and fast.

  I turned the handle. The door wasn't locked; it gave as I pushed.

  I walked in.

  On a bed in the corner of the room was a bald-headed man in a grey lounge suit. There was blood on his face and shirt front. One eye was closed and bruised, and a patch of broken skin showed by his right ear where he had been punched. His wrists and ankles were roped to the bed, and he was gagged.

  Standing over him was a short, thickset man in a baggy brown suit. He was bow-legged and his battered, apish face was moronic and cruel. He was raising his great hairy fist as I walked in.

  "Grab some cloud, Bat," I said.

  He stiffened, then without moving his body he looked over I his shoulder. His small pig eyes hardened when he saw me. His right hand moved, but I showed him the Luger.

  "I shouldn't, Bat," I said gently. "I'm Cain."

  That held him. Slowly he raised his hands to shoulder height. He grinned at me. His teeth were black and broken.

  "Hullo, bub," he said.

  "Get over to the wall," I said, watching him, "and face it."

  "You're my meat, bub," he went on, grinning at me. "Not now, but later. I'm as good with a rod as you."

  "We'll try it sometime," I said. "Get over to the wall."

  Still grinning, he sidled over to the wall.

  "Turn," I said.