The Paul Cain Omnibus (58 page)

“You remember Hanline,” Kells said to Beery. “He’s Fenner’s secretary.” Beery nodded.

Borg mumbled into the phone and handed the phone to Kells after a moment.

Kells said: “Hello—Hanline? … Tell that boss of yours that I’ve got the stuff he’s dealing with Crotti about. Tell him that in the next two hours I’m going to sell it to the best offer…. He’ll know what I mean…. Tell him that the bidding starts at fifty grand, and that he’d better be goddamned quick….”

Kells hung up, grinned at Beery. “Now watch things happen,” he said.

Beery was looking at Granquist. “Where does Miss G get off if you peddle Fenner’s confession back to him? It’s the one thing that leaves her in the clear.”

Kells moved his grin to Granquist. “We’ve figured that out,” he said.

The phone rang and Borg answered it. “Send him up,” he said, and hung up. He said, “Faber,” over his shoulder, went to the door.

Granquist looked questioningly at Kells.

Kells shook his head. “Borg’s running mate,” he said. “I’ll give you twelve guesses where I’m going to send him.”

Faber came in, said hello to Kells and Beery, half nodded to Granquist, and sat down.

Kells said: “Drink?”

“Sure.”

Kells looked at Granquist and she got up and went into the kitchen, came back with a bottle and a glass and handed them to Faber. He poured himself a drink.

Kells said: “Fenner isn’t your boss any longer—how do you like that?”

Faber glanced at Borg. He tipped the glass to his mouth, took it down when it was empty, said: “I like that fine.”

“I want you to go to the Villa Dora out on Harper”—Kells looked up at Borg—“your car’s still here, isn’t it?”

Borg said: “Yeah.”

“Take the car,” Kells went on, “and hang on the front of that place until you see three big pigskin keesters go in and find out which apartment they go to. I don’t know who’ll have them, but there’ll be three—and they’ll probably come up in a closed Chrysler.”

Faber said: “Uh-huh.” He picked up the bottle and poured himself another drink. He looked at Beery, then at the rest of them quickly. “Anybody else?”

Beery nodded; Granquist went out and got another glass.

Kells said: “Call here pronto—but I mean pronto. Spot a phone, and call here the minute you connect. We’ll be over right away and pick you up.”

Faber nodded, drank. He put down his glass and stood up. “Villa Dora—that’s below Sunset Boulevard isn’t it?”

Beery said: “Yes—between Sunset and Fountain.”

Kells was looking out the window. “They’ll probably come in between two this afternoon and nine tonight. You’d better get something to eat before you go out.”

Faber said: “Okay.” He put on his hat and said, “So long,” and went out.

Beery smiled at Kells. “Are you going mysterious on me?”

“Those three cases are full of cocaine”—Kells was looking at Granquist—“according to my steer. A hundred and fifteen thousand dollars’ worth—and there’s a hundred and fifteen thousand dollars in cash waiting for them some place in the Villa Dora. It’s Crotti’s stuff, and I have a hunch Max Hesse is on the buying end. I don’t want the junk—I want the dough.”

Beery stood up. He said: “Gerry—you’re losing your mind. When you buck Crotti you’re bucking a machine. They’ll have a dozen guns trained on that deal—every angle figured—”

Granquist interrupted: “He’s right, Gerry—you can’t….”

“What do you think about it?” Kells was staring morosely at Borg.

Borg put a black ten on a red Jack. “It’d be a nice lick,” he said.

Kells put his leg down carefully, stood up. He held out his arm to Beery. “Give me a hand, Shep,” he said.

Beery helped him across the room.

When Kells came back, Borg said: “The Doc called. He says he’s sending over some crutches for you—an’ for you to keep off that leg.”

Beery helped Kells back to the big chair. He sat down and put his leg up on the other chair, muttered: “I don’t want any goddamned crutches.”

Then he turned his head to smile at Granquist. “Isn’t it about time you brought us all a drink, baby?”

Granquist got up and went into the kitchen.

Kells asked: “What time is it?”

Beery was standing beside Kells’ chair. He glanced at his watch, held it down for Kells to see: eleven-five.

At eleven-twenty, Woodward was announced. Granquist went into the bedroom and closed the door, and Borg let Woodward in.

Woodward’s eyes were excited behind wide-rimmed tortoiseshell glasses. He bowed nervously to Beery and Borg, sat down in the chair near Kells at Kells’ invitation.

“How would you like to buy the originals of all the dirt on Bellmann?” Kells began.

Woodward smiled faintly. “We’ve discussed that before Mister Kells,” he said. “I’m afraid it’s too late to do anything about it now—your
Coast Guardian
has published several of the pictures and the story….”

Kells said: “You can doctor the negatives and claim they’re forgeries—and I can give you additional information with which you can prove that the whole thing was a conspiracy to blackmail Bellmann.”

Woodward pursed his lips. He glanced at Beery, said: “Don’t you think we might discuss this alone, Mister Kells?”

Kells shook his head shortly.

“In addition to all that,” he went on “the pictures and the information—I can give you”—he paused, leaned forward slightly—“absolute proof that L.D. Fenner shot Bellmann.”

Woodward’s eyes widened a little. He leaned back in his chair and wet his lips, stared at Kells as if he wasn’t quite sure that he had heard correctly.

“L.D. Fenner killed Bellmann,” Kells repeated slowly. He took a crumpled piece of paper out of the breast pocket of his dressing gown, straightened it out and tossed it on Woodward’s lap.

Woodward picked it up and held it close to his face, put his hand up and adjusted his glasses. He put the paper back on the arm of Kells’ chair in a little while. He cleared his throat, said: “Who is Beery, who witnessed Fenner’s signature with you?”

Kells inclined his head towards Beery, who was sitting at the table watching Borg’s solitaire.

Woodward said: “How much do you want?”

“Plenty.” Kells picked up the piece of paper, held it by a corner. He grinned at Beery. “It’s lousy theater,” he said. “The ‘incriminating confession’”—he said it melodramatically. “All we need is the Old Homestead, some papier-mâché snow, and a couple of bloodhounds.”

“And
you
ought to have a black mustache.” Beery looked up, smiled.

Woodward said: “As I told you—my, uh—people are pressed for cash.”

“I don’t give a damn how pressed they are. They can do business with me now—big business—and get their lousy administration out of the hole, or they can start packing to move out of City Hall. This is the last call….”

Woodward started to speak and then the phone rang. Borg answered it, put his hand over the transmitter, nodded to Kells. Then he got up and brought the phone over.

Kells said: “Hello…. Wait a minute—I want you to meet a friend of mine.”

He spoke to Woodward: “In case you’re figuring this for a plant, I want you to talk to this guy. You’d know Fenner’s voice, wouldn’t you?”

Woodward nodded. He took the phone from Kells, hesitantly said: “Hello.”

Kells reached over and took the phone back. He spoke into it, smiled at Woodward, and said: “Hello, Lee…. That was Mister Woodward, a big buyer from downtown…. Uh-huh…. Now don’t get excited, Lee—we haven’t made a deal yet…. Why don’t you come on over? …. Yes—and bring plenty of cash—it starts at fifty grand…. Okay, make it snappy.”

He hung up, stared vacantly at Woodward’s cravat.

“Now I’m not going to argue with you,” he said. “You heard what I told Fenner. You’d better get going—first here, first served.”

Woodward stood up. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said. He put on his hat, nodded to Beery and Borg and started towards the door.

Kells said: “And don’t get ideas. If you come back here with the law, and try to hang a ‘conspiracy to defeat justice’ rap on me, I’ll swear that the whole goddamned thing is a lie—and so will my gentlemen friends.” He jerked his head at Beery and Borg.

Woodward had turned to listen. He nodded, then turned again and went out and closed the door.

Kells said: “This is going to be a lot of fun, even if it doesn’t work.”

“You said something about being all washed up with the fun angle….” Beery got up and poured himself a drink. “You said something about being out for the dough.”

“Watch it work.” Kells leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes.

Fenner put thirty thousand-dollar notes on the arm of Kells’ chair. Kells took the piece of crumpled paper out of his breast pocket and handed it to Fenner, and Fenner unfolded it and looked at it and then took a cigarette lighter out of his pocket and touched the flame to a corner of the paper.

Kells said: “Now get out of here while you’re all together.” He said it very quietly.

They were alone in the room.

Fenner said: “What could I do, Gerry? I had to go to Crotti when you told me he had this.” He put the last charred corner of paper in an ashtray. “It took me a couple days to get to him—I was damned near crazy….”

“Right.” Kells moved his head slowly up and down and his expression was not pleasant. “You were plenty crazy when you offered Crotti my scalp.”

Fenner stood up. He didn’t say anything, just stood there looking out the window for a minute, then he turned and started towards the door.

“I’ll give you a tip, L.D.,” Kells’ voice was low, and he stared with hard cold eyes at Fenner. “Take it on the lam—quick.”

Fenner opened his mouth and then he closed it, swallowed.

He said: “Why—what do you mean?”

Kells didn’t answer; he stared at Fenner coldly. Fenner stood there a little while and then he turned and went out. Borg and Granquist came out of the kitchen.

Kells said: “Thirty. I wonder if we’ll do as well with Woodward. These guys don’t seem to take me seriously when I talk about fifty thousand. Maybe it’s the depression.”

At a few minutes after one, Woodward telephoned.

The crutches that Janis had called about had been delivered, and Kells was practicing walking with them. He put them down, sat down at the table and took the phone from Borg.

He said, “Hello,” and then listened with an occasional affirmative grunt. After a minute or so he said, “All right—make it fast,” and hung up.

He grinned at Granquist. “Twenty more,” he said. “Up to now it’s been a swell day’s work. If we get it….”

Borg said: “Do you mind letting me in on how the hell you’re going to sell this thing to Woodward when you’ve already sold it to Fenner?”

Kells took two more pieces of creased crumpled paper from his pocket, tossed them on the table in front of Borg.

Borg looked at the two, smiled slowly. “How about making them up in gross lots?” he said.

Kells inclined his head towards Granquist. “The lady’s work,” he said. “She used to be in the business—she went over to the Venice early this morning and snagged the letterheads.”

Granquist was sitting in the big chair by the window. Kells picked up the two pieces of paper and put them back in his pocket, got up and hobbled over to her, sat down on the arm of the chair.

“God! You’re awfully quiet, baby,” he said. “What’s the matter?”

She looked up at him and her eyes were frightened.

“I want to go—I want us to go,” she said huskily. “Something awful’s going to happen….”

Kells put his arm around her head, pulled it close against his chest.

“If we get the twenty from Woodward,” he said very quietly—“and the big stuff from Crotti, it’ll make almost two hundred grand—”

“We’ve got enough,” she broke in. “Let’s go, Gerry—please.”

He sat without moving or speaking for a little while, staring out the window at the brightness of the sun. Then he got up and went back to the table and took up the phone and asked the operator to get him the Sante Fe ticket office.

When the connection had been made, he said: “I want to make reservations on the
Chief
, tomorrow evening—a drawing room—two….”

Granquist had turned. She said: “Tonight! Gerry.”

Kells smiled at her a little. He shook his head and said: “Yes…. Kells, Miramar Apartments in Hollywood—send them out.”

Then he hung up and reached across the table for the bottle and glasses, poured drinks. He raised his glass.

“Here’s to Crime—and the
Chief
tomorrow night.”

Granquist got up and came to the table and picked up one of the glasses. She said, “Hey, hey,” and smiled across the table at Kells.

There was a knock at the outer door and Granquist went into the bedroom, and Borg got up and let Woodward in.

Woodward was very nervous. He put two neat sheafs of thousandand five-hundred-dollar notes on the table, said: “There you are, sir.”

Kells tossed one of the forged confessions across the table and slid one of the thousand-dollar notes out of the sheaf, examined it carefully.

Woodward said: “And the other things—the pictures and things? ….”

“They’re downtown. I’ll call Beery to turn them over to you—at the Howard Hotel.”

Woodward nodded. He went over to the window and adjusted his glasses, peered closely at the paper. He turned to say something and then there was a sharp sound and glass tinkled on the floor. Woodward stood with his mouth open a little while, then his legs buckled under him slowly and he fell down and stretched one arm out and took hold of the bottom of one of the drapes. He rolled his head once back and forth, and his glasses came off and stuck out at an angle from the side of his head. His eyes were open, staring.

Kells said: “Well….”

Borg was half-standing. He moved his arm and very deliberately put the cards down on the table. Then he straightened and moved toward Woodward’s body.

Kells said: “Don’t go near the window, sap.”

Granquist came into the bedroom door and stood with one hand up to her face, staring at Woodward.

Borg said: “It must have been from that joint.” He pointed through the window to the tall apartment house halfway down the block.