Shakedown (17 page)

From the direction of the dining room: “What is it, dear? What has happened?”

I continued to walk forward until I was in view of the dining room. Then I said, “I’ve been worked over a little, sir. Because of the Nevada Investment Company.”

Silence. Willi’s eyes looked shocked as they moved over my face, Roland’s thoughtful, Jean’s startled.

It was Roland who spoke first. “I read about your—trouble. Come in here, Mr. Puma, and sit down. It isn’t something totally unexpected, this type of hoodlumism by my—competitors.” He made that last word sound dirty.

They were on their dessert and Jean asked, “Some coffee, Mr. Puma?” She had brought over a chair.

“I guess not,” I said. “My mouth is kind of—torn, inside.”

Roland closed his eyes and flexed his jaw muscles. He shook his head gently. “Did you reveal—any—I can’t ask it.”

“They didn’t get a word out of me, Mr. Roland. That ain’t the right way to get words out of me.” I gave them a Chandler leer. “Maybe if they’d come with a couple bank notes—Nah, I’m just kidding. I wouldn’t have sold out either, I’m sure.”

“I see.” Roland studied me. “These—hoodlums didn’t indicate who was behind them, did they?”

“I know who was behind them.” I paused. “Brattan.”

Both Jean and Willi looked at Roland, now. He nodded, as though he’d expected that name. Then he said coolly, “How did you learn it was Brattan?”

“He first came to me another way,” I said. “With money.” I stuck my chin out proudly. “I’ll confess that I was damned near—Well, I was tempted.”

“You almost sold out? Why, Mr. Puma?”

“For money, of course.”

“You need money that badly, Mr. Puma?”

“Look, Mr. Roland, you maybe don’t understand about guys like me. I been in business for myself for nine years in this town. I been doing about all I can handle too. And living cheap. And I’ve got just four hundred and eighteen dollars in the bank.”

Silence, and then Charles Adam Roland nodded understandingly. “I see. I certainly understand now, Mr. Puma.” Quiet, dignified.

I put the old chin up there again. “I’m glad you do. Because you can have every dime of it, Mr. Roland. That’s the way I feel about the Nevada Investment Company, now.”

He started to say something and then stopped. Touched, he was obviously under great emotional strain. Finally, he managed a strangled, “Thank you
_¾
Mr. Puma. Thank you, very much.”

Where was the organ music? Where was the boy choir and the marching color guard? Next week, East Lynne.

A deep silence, and then he took an audible breath and smiled paternally at me. “I won’t need your money, Mr. Puma, but I’m sure we will find a place for you in the organization. I’m sure you’ll wind up with more than four hundred and eighteen dollars.”

Then Jean came in on cue. She said anxiously, “Dad, this means Brattan intends to stop at nothing,
absolutely nothing,
doesn’t it? And there isn’t too much time?”

“I have forty-eight hours,” he said quietly. “I have some potential investors to see tomorrow. If I’m lucky, I can get all I need from them, every nickel of it.”

“And if you’re not lucky?”

“That,” he said with dignity, “is an alternative I never consider until
all
hope is lost.”

And now the mark spoke up, Miss Willi Clifford. “About how much money do you still need, Charles?”

“A hundred and forty thousand dollars,” he said. “That would bring me up to the half million I need for working capital.”

She nodded. “I see. I don’t think, Charles, it will be necessary to visit those potential investors tomorrow.”

We all gave her our undivided attention. She was sitting straight and prim in her chair, her chin as out-thrust as mine had been. “I’m sure I can arrange to invest the entire sum.”

I looked over to see the effect on Roland, and the bastard actually had tears in his eyes. Though I’m not a sentimental man, I could see his point. If anything could make me cry, a hundred-and-forty-thousand-dollar-steal would do it.

We were ready to roll.

Jean went to the door with me, and there she whispered, “I’ll keep in touch. For heaven’s sake, be careful from here in.”

“I won’t miss a trick,” I promised her. A hundred and forty thousand dollars. The figure went around and around in my head. Three ways meant about forty-six thousand each, two ways seventy thousand, my way a hundred and forty thousand dollars. Where couldn’t I go with that and what couldn’t I do? I could go so far away, McGill would have to spend nine dollars to send me a postcard.

The Chev’s tappets rattled and the rear end whined as we rode through the sunlight on Sunset. I went to the bank and closed out my account and then went home to study a map of the Playa del Rey section. If I took Century to the Coast Boulevard, I’d be pretty far down before I came into the heavy traffic. It was the kind of traffic that a car can get lost in, and there are a lot of Chevs in this state.

But where from there? Mexico?

I wouldn’t mind a vacation there, but what if the border officials should decide to really check the car for a change? A hundred and forty thousand in cash would make me awful conspicuous. They’d surely check back if they found that kind of money in the car. That wasn’t tourist money.

Did I have to get out of the country? Who’d put in a complaint? Neither of the Rolands, and not Willi Clifford. But McGill had told me to stay available, and leaving would put me in the soup. Especially after they found Deutscher’s body. The steal might never get reported, but my leaving town would make McGill very unhappy.

I had a slug of rye and went over to the cleaners for my suit. It had been pressed, but not cleaned.

I said, “I thought you people sent this out to be cleaned?”

The girl tried to face me, but her glance slid away. “We did, sir. But then when you wanted it in a hurry, Mr. Andrikian phoned for them to send it right back. And we pressed it.”

“I see,” I said. “Well, I’m not making the trip anyway, so you may as well clean it.”

“All right, sir.”

That information would go back to the department and McGill would get it. I didn’t want him to get the idea I was leaving town; that had been stupid, making that remark to the girl before.

As I climbed into the Chev, I had another great idea. If I was being followed, the man was doing a good job of hiding himself. But if I was being followed I wanted McGill to think I was looking for Deutscher. He must think it damned strange that I hadn’t gone either to Deutscher’s office, or his home.

I headed the Chev for Hollywood Hills.

Not only would it look good to the tail, if any, but there was a possibility I could see into the living room through the chinks in the Venetian blinds. If Deutscher was still there, I’d be getting out of town in plenty of time.

The street he lived on was quiet, but I sat in the Chev for a minute after I parked. This took guts, but guts was what a man needed if he wanted to get somewhere. Think big, as Deutscher had told me.

When I got out, there was some tremble in my knees. But I walked right up to this door, and pressed the button. There were papers on the porch and circulars. His mail slot would never jam up; it was just a hole in the front door.

I stood there for seconds and tried the bell again. And then I saw there was a gap in the curtain of the door and I moved over to where I could see a small section of the living room. It was enough. I could see the davenport and Deutscher still on it. And as I got close to the door, the smell came to me. There couldn’t be any dogs in the neighborhood or they’d be howling their lungs out.

My stomach growled, but that was just hunger. I went back to the Chev, looking disappointed, and headed for the nearest drive-in. Then I went back to the other cleaners and picked up the clothes I’d taken in quite a few days back. My laundry was there with the dry cleaning.

Back at my igloo, I closed all the blinds and relaxed on the davenport. Nerves, I was getting. I’d been under suspicion by McGill’s boys before, but not when I had a fortune within reach.

And if I was nervous now, what would I be after I had the money? Damn it, maybe that was what had kept me a piker: I didn’t have the poise for a really big pitch.

But I’d murdered. That took guts. Roland wouldn’t have the stomach for it, so his poise had never really been tested. Though it wasn’t the murder that was bothering me now. It was the thought of missing out on a hundred and forty grand.

I couldn’t he still. I went out and drove the Chev around to the alley and into the garage back there. Now I could load from the backyard, and the backyard was fenced. Nobody outside of the other occupants of the building would know I was packing.

It was a hot day, and the sweat poured off me as I took my clothes, the records and record player out to the car. Then I took a quick shower and made some coffee and took out the map again.

If I wanted to travel east, I could take Manchester off the Coast Highway. I could cut into the Santa Ana Freeway from there and take an eastern route from somewhere out of town. That would cut out the heavier downtown traffic and getting out of town quickly was the important thing.

I ate supper out and came back with some mix for the rye. I sat there until the bottle was gone, but no peace came. I got jumpy as a bitch in heat, thinking about that big roll of the long green and all the damned things that might go wrong.

I couldn’t get to sleep. I kept wondering about Jean and her Dad. How did I know they weren’t planning the same damned thing themselves.

A
T THREE, I FINALLY
fell asleep. At nine, the phone wakened me, and it was Jean.

She said, “I’m in the drugstore. Dad and Willi are picking up her immediately negotiable stuff this morning. They might even be getting the cash this afternoon before the bank closes, though that’s an outside chance. What are our plans, Joe?”

“You still want me and the trip?”

“Both will suit me.” She chuckled. “Particularly with a hundred and forty thousand dollars in the kitty.”

“All right then, get a room at that motel on Twentieth and Wilshire. Pack the clothes and valuables you want, and leave them there. Then get back to where you can keep me informed on everything that goes on. Don’t overlook a damned thing, including the possibility of a switch.”

“Ay, ay, Captain. Aren’t we going to have fun, Joe, baby?”

“We sure are,” I promised her.

It would depend on what she called fun. It would have to include waiting in a motel room for a man traveling as fast as he could in the other direction. Good-bye, lady, it’s been fun knowing you.

I was shaky and my stomach rumbled. A nickel scrambler I’d always been and now there was a hundred-and forty thousand to be taken. I cursed myself for a piker but the edginess remained. It would be all right afterwards, but now I kept thinking of the million things that could go wrong.

I took my time making breakfast and read the morning paper as I ate. There’d be waiting to do and waiting always made me nervous.

By eleven, I was hungry again and I ate some bread and coffee. This kind of money was no different than any other kind, I told myself. I’d made some tricky dollars before this, but there were more of them. The risk was just as great in the petty larceny and pay-off made the game not worth the candle. This was worth the risk.

And who’d beef? Not even the mark, probably. I couldn’t find a cleaner steal than this if I staged it myself. This one had been set up by experts. And the only possibility they’d overlooked was the strong arm of Joe Puma. Con men never resort to violence; that puts them at the thug level. They like to think of themselves as the aristocrats of crime.

At one, Jean phoned. She said, “They’re going over to the bank now, to convert the stuff to cash. Get moving, Joe. I’ll be waiting for you.”

“I’m on the way,” I said. “And you stay tight at that motel. If I run into trouble, I’ll call you there.”

“I’ll wait. I trust you, Joe, all the way. You’ll do it.”

I sure as hell would.

For a few seconds, I wondered if it wouldn’t be smart to pick up Roland at the bank and follow him from there. I couldn’t be too sure he was going to Playa del Rey. But waiting there would give me the element of surprise and also a fine place from which to take off. There wasn’t even a phone in the joint.

I buckled on the shoulder holster and checked the .38 before putting on my jacket. I went out into the sweltering day. I’d been sweating in the apartment, but that wasn’t from the heat. Sweat was running down my sides, along my forearms, along the backs of my legs. The car was an oven.

I opened the windows on both sides, as I cut down to Santa Monica Boulevard. I wished I was sitting in Roland’s spot right now. He had the money and the car. All he didn’t have was the knowledge that I knew about his Playa del Rey hide-out. And yet, could I be sure of his ignorance? The full freezer would make anyone think he meant to hole up there; it might be designed just to make me think he was going there with the money. Con men are noted for thinking moves ahead of the law. And as far as Roland was concerned, I could hurt him more than the law. I could take the money away from him. There was a very good chance I’d made the mistake of underestimating how much Roland knew about my plans.

The further west I traveled, the cooler it got. In Santa Monica, as I cut onto Lincoln, I could see the haze along the coast. The haze almost blanketed the sun as I drove south along Alternate 101. Turning onto Jefferson, my heart began to hammer. Nothing must go wrong.
Think, Puma, think
…

Something had bothered me as I traveled down Lincoln, and then I remembered that’s where
Little Phil’s
was located. That was an unsolved riddle, but that wasn’t connected with this deal. To hell with Little Phil. I was leaving some first-class quiff behind, but I’d never lacked for that. And being rich sure as hell wasn’t going to hurt my chances of getting all the quiff I could handle.

In my inner jacket pocket, I had the letter to Willi Clifford. I was going into a dirty situation very clean. What bothered me then? Why should my heart hammer? There could be only one answer, the size of the steal. It was almost too damned good to be true and I had always been a realist.