The fog was wet on Kells’ face. He opened his eyes and looked up into the grayness, rolled over on his side slowly, looked into thick, unbroken grayness. He held his hand in front of him at arm’s length and it was a shapeless mass of darker gray. He sat up and leaden weights fell in his skull like the mechanism that opens and closes the eyes of dolls. He lay down again and turned his head slowly, held his watch close. It was a little after six, full daylight, but the fog made it night.
Then he heard someone coming, the crunch of feet on gravel. He reached for the gun, found the empty holster, noticed suddenly with a sharp sensation in the pit of his stomach that his coat was gone.
Someone squatted beside him, spoke: “How d’you feel?” It was Borg. Kells could see the thick outline of his head and shoulders.
Kells said: “Terrible. Where the hell’s my coat?”
“God! Me saving his life an’ he wants his coat!” Borg giggled softly.
“What happened?”
“Everything.” Borg sighed, sat down in the gravel with his mouth close to Kells’ ear. “After you an’ the navigator went ashore I went on the wharf and laid down for a while. Then in a couple minutes somebody came out an’ I thought it was you till I seen there was four of them. I ducked behind some ropes and stuff that was laying there and they came out and saw the boat an’ jawed awhile in some spick language. Then they lit out for some place an’ I got up and tailed them and run into the navigator.”
There was the sound of a shot suddenly, some place below and to Kells’ left.
Borg said: “That’s him now — what a boy!”
Kells sat up.
Borg went on: “He was carrying on about smelling trouble up at some kind of barn an’ he wanted a gun. I wouldn’t give him mine, so he said he was going back to the boat an’ bust open a locker or something where he thought there was one. He—”
There was another shot.
Kells said: “What the hell’s that all about?” He jerked his head toward the sound, immediately wished he hadn’t.
“That’s him — he’s all right. Wait’ll I tell you...” Borg shifted his position a little, went on: “I went on up the path an’ I’ll be damned if that navigator didn’t catch up with me, an’ he had the dirtiest-looking shotgun I ever saw. When we got to the house, he said. ‘You go in the front way an’ I’ll go in the back,’ so I waited for him to get around to the back — an’ about that time there was two shots inside.”
Kells lay down again on his stomach. Borg twisted around lay beside him.
“I went in and you was doing a cartwheel downstairs with three or four guys on your neck. There was another guy there an’ he made a pass at me and I shot him right between the eyes...”
Borg leaned close to Kells, tapped his own head between the eyes with a stubby forefinger.
Kells said: “Hurry up.”
“I’m hurrying. They was tearing hell out of you an’ I was trying to pick one of ’em off when the navigator came in the back way and started waving that shotgun around. He yelled so much they had to see him. Then another guy came out on the balcony and I took a shot at him, but I guess I missed — he ducked back in the upstairs room.”
Borg sighed, shook his head. There was another shot below, then two more, close together.
“Well — I got off to one side to give the navigator a chance,” Borg went on, “but he had a better idea — he came over on my side and we jockeyed around till I could get a hold of you, and then we backed out the front — me dragging you, and the navigator telling the boys what a swell lot of hash they’d make if he let go with that meat grinder. When we got outside I drug you a little to one side—”
Kells interrupted: “Didn’t I have my coat?”
“Hell, no! You was lucky to have pants the way those guys was working you over. We tried to carry you between us but we couldn’t make any headway that way — it was so dark and foggy we kept falling down. So the navigator fanned tail for the boat and I drug you through a lot of brush and we got up here after a while. A half a dozen more guys went by on the way to the house — the island’s lousy with ’em. If it hadn’t been for the fog...”
Kells asked: “Bernie’s at the boat, now?”
“Sure — and a swell spot. The fog’s not quite so heavy down there and he can pick ’em off as soon as they show at the head of the wharf. Only I thought he’d shove off before this...”
“He’s waiting for us, sap.” Kells rose to his knees.
“Oh yeah? Maybe you can figure out a way for us to get there.”
Kells asked: “Which direction should the side of the cove be?”
“I haven’t the slightest.”
Kells got shakily to his feet, rubbed his head, started down a shale bank to his left. He said: “Come on — we’ll have to take a chance.”
Borg got up and they went down the bank to a shallow draw. An occasional shot sounded on the far side of a low ridge to their right. The fog wasn’t quite so thick at the bottom of the draw; they went on, came out in a little while-on to a narrow beach. There was a jagged spit of rock running out across the sand from one side of the draw. The fog was thinning.
They waited for the next shot; then Kells, calculating direction from the sound, said, “Come on” — they ran out along the rocks to the edge of the water.
Kells kicked off his shoes, waded in; Borg followed. The fog was heavy over the water — they swam blindly in the direction — Kells figured the Comet to be.
After a little while the end of the wharf took form ahead, a bit to the right. They circled toward it, came up to the bow of the big cruiser. They swam around the cruiser, under the wharf and up to the Comet’s stern.
Kells grabbed the gunwale, pulled himself up a little way and called to Bernie. Bernie was crouched in the forward end of the cockpit, behind the raised forward deck. He whirled and swung the gun toward Kells, and then he grinned broadly, put down the gun, crawled over and helped Kells climb aboard. He muttered, “Good huntin’,” went back and picked up the gun; Kells helped Borg.
Borg was winded — he lay at full length on the deck, gasping for breath. Kells started toward Bernie, and then his bad leg gave way, he fell down, crawled the rest of the way.
He said: “Get the engine started — I’ll take that for a minute.”
Bernie gave him the gun and a handful of shells, went down to the engine. Kells called to Borg, told him to work his way to the after line, cut it. There was a shot at the head of the wharf, a piece of wood was torn from the edge of the cowling, fell in splinters.
Borg rolled over slowly, got to his knees. He was still panting. He looked reproachfully at Kells, fumbled in his pocket and took out a small jackknife, started worming his way aft.
The engine went over with a roar.
There was an answering roar of shots from the shore.
Bernie came galloping up to the wheel. Kells glanced back at Borg, saw him sawing at the stern line; he took a bead on the bow line, pulled the trigger. The line frayed; Kells aimed again, gave it the other barrel.
Bernie said: “That’s enough — I can part it now...” He slid the clutch in, threw the wheel over.
Kells was hastily reloading. He glanced back at Borg, saw the stern line fall, saw Borg sink down exhausted, so flat that he was safe.
The bow line snapped. They skipped in a fast shallow arc toward the head of the wharf. There was a rattle of gunfire. Kells pushed the shotgun across the cowling, sighted. Two puffs of smoke grew over an overturned dinghy on the beach; he swung the barrel toward the smoke, pulled the trigger.
Then they straightened out, headed through the mouth of the cove toward the open sea. Bernie kicked the throttle. A few desultory shots popped behind them.
Kells put down the gun, sat down on the deck and rolled up his wet trouser leg. The leg wasn’t very nice to look at — Doc Janis’s dressing was hanging by a thin strip of adhesive tape. Kells called Borg.
Borg got up slowly. He came forward, squatted beside Kells.
Bernie yelled: “There’s some peroxide and stuff in the for’d locker on the port side — I busted it open.”
Borg went into the cabin.
Kells fished in his trouser pockets, brought out a wad of wet bills and some silver, spread it out on the deck beside him. There was a thousand-dollar note and the eight hundreds which Brand’s friend had paid off with after the fights. There was another wad of fifty- and hundred-dollar and smaller bills. Fenner’s twenty-five-thousand-dollar check, Brand’s for a thousand, and around eight thousand in cash had been in the coat. And Fenner’s confession.
Kells looked up; Bernie was looking at him, grinned. “Wet as usual,” he said. “You better take off your clothes an’ get in a bunk.”
Kells said: “Step on it. I’ve got to call up a friend of mine.”
He picked up several of the wet bills, folded them, put a half dollar inside the fold to give them weight, slid them across the deck to Bernie.
“That ought to cover damages on the boat, too,” he said.
Borg came out of the cabin with absorbent cotton and adhesive and peroxide.
Kells picked up some more bills, rolled them into a ball and shoved them into Borg’s free hand, said: “Try to buy yourself a yacht with that...” He counted what was left.
Borg poured peroxide on the leg.
Kells said: “I came out to California with two grand.” He shoved the bills into a heap. There was a little pile of silver left. He counted it with his finger.
“Now I’ve got two — and seventy cents.” He picked up the silver, held it in his palm, smiled at Borg. “Velvet.”
Bernie shouted: “I hope I remember the way back!”
Kells said; “Don’t let that worry you,” stared forward into the fog.
There was a small zebra galloping up and down the footboard. He was striped red white blue like a barber pole; his ears were tasseled, flopped back and forth awkwardly. Then he faded into a bright mist; the room tipped over to darkness. Kells yelled...
Then it was raining outside. Gray...
After a while Kells opened his eyes and looked up at Borg, said: “Hello, baby,” softly.
Borg giggled. He said: “Don’t be sentimental.”
Doc Janis same over and stared bleakly down over Borg’s shoulder. He said: “By God! I never saw such a tough egg.”
Kells blinked at him, closed his eyes. He heard Janis talking to Borg as if from a great distance: “Give him all the whiskey he wants, but no more of this. Understand?”
Kells wondered idly what this was. He mumbled, “Gimme drink a water,” fell asleep.
When he awoke he lay with his eyes closed listening to rain beat against the windows.
He said, “What time is it?” opened his eyes.
Borg and Shep Beery were playing cards on a table in the center of the room. Beery said: “That’s twice I’ve ruined my hand waiting for three hundred pinochle.” He got up and came over to the bed, grinned down at Kells.
“What do you care — you’re not going any place.”
Kells looked past Beery at Borg, looked around the room. He said: “What the hell is this?”
Borg was shuffling the cards. There was a bridge lamp beside the table and the light fell squarely on his fat, pale face. He shook his head sadly without looking up.
“Slug-nutty.”
Beery sat down on the edge of the bed, whispered confidentially: “This is the Palace, Gerry — you’re the Prince of Wales.
“I’m Mary, Queen of Snots.” Borg looked up, smiled complacently.
Kells closed his eyes, said: “Give me a drink.”
Beery reached over and took a tumbler, a big bottle from a stand beside the bed, poured a drink; Kells sat up slowly, carefully.
Beery handed him the glass. “You’ve been out like a light for a few days. We didn’t figure the hotel was a good spot right now so we moved you over here. It’s the Miramar, on Franklin.”
Kells held the glass with both shaking hands, tipped it, drank deeply.
Borg got up, came over and leaned on the foot of the bed.
“Where do you remember to?” he asked. — Kells handed the empty glass to Beery, lay down. “When we got back from the island, I phoned Fenner — and had Bernie get a bottle...”
“Four bottles... And you sucked up three of ’em. I had to practically clip you to get a swallow. You said your leg hurt an’ you wanted to get drunk...”
Kells said: “Sure, I remember...”
“You did.”
Beery chuckled. “Uh huh,” he said. “You did.”
“Then when we got you to the hotel,” Borg went on, “an” into bed, you started having the screaming heebies and the Doc give you a shot in the arm — so you got worse...” Kells smiled faintly. His eyes were closed. “The Doc was running around in circles wringing his hands because he thought the leg was going to gangrene or something. You started roaring for more M, and then when I left you alone for a minute you got up an’ promoted a tube of Hyoscine someplace, an’ a needle...” Borg paused, straightening up and finished disgustedly: “An’ I’ll be god-damned if you didn’t shoot the whole bloody tube!”
Beery said: “Then you began to get really violent — tried to do a hundred an’ eight out the window, wanted to walk across the ceiling — things like that. We smuggled you out of the hotel and brought you over here.” Kells said: “Give me a drink, Shep.” He sat up again slowly, took the glass. “How many days?”
Beery said: “Four.”
Kells drank, laughed, “four bottles — four days... Four’s my lucky number...” He squinted at Borg. “Once I bet four yards on a four-to-one shot in the fourth race on the Fourth of July...” He handed the glass to Beery, sank back on the pillow. “Horse ran fourth.”
Borg snorted, turned and went into the bathroom. Kells looked around the room again. “Nice joint,” he said. “How much am I paying for it?”
“I don’t know.” Beery lighted a cigarette. “Fenner has some kind of lien or mortgage or something on the building — he said he’d take care of the details.”
“It was his suggestion — bringing me here?”
Beery nodded.
“Where is he?”
“Long gone. When you told him Crotti had his confession he scrammed. I got him on the phone just before he checked out of the Knickerbocker and he said he’d call over here and fix it for the apartment — said he’d get in touch with you later.”
Kells smiled. “All the big boys... It’s simply a process of elimination. Fenner and Rose gone — Bellmann dead. Now if we can only angle Crotti into committing suicide...” He paused, glanced at Borg coming back from the bath. “Did Fat, here, tell you all about the island sequence?”
Borg said: “Sure I told him — all I knew.”
“Crotti propositioned me to come in with him on a big play to organize the whole coast,” Kells went on. “Will you please tell me why these bastards keep dealing me in, and then figure that if I’m not for ’em I’m against ’em? First Rose — but that was an out-and-out frame; then Fenner thought he and I’d make a great team. Now, Crotti — and the funny part of that one is I think he was on the level about it.”
Beery said: “It must be the way you wear your clothes.”
“Sure. It’s just your natural charm.” Borg made a wry face, went back to the table and began laying out solitaire.
“Of course Crotti’s got the right idea about organization.” Kells rubbed his eyes — with his knuckles. “But the fun in an organization is being head man.”
Beery said: “The other night at Fenner’s when you were putting on that act for Gowdy, you said you had some friends on the way out here. Was that a gag?”
“Certainly. I wanted to impress Gowdy with my importance to his outfit. You can get my torpedo friends in the East into a telephone booth.”
“Well — if Crotti says war” — Beery got up and went over to one of the rain-swept windows — “we’re sitting pretty...”
“Uh huh.” Borg looked at Kells. “In a pig’s eye. We three, an’ whatever strong-arm strength Gowdy swings — and that doesn’t amount to a hell of a lot...”
“And against us...” Beery turned from the window, stuck his hands deep in his pockets. “There’s all Crotti’s mob — and that’s supposed to be the best in the country. There’s Rose, with his syndicate behind him, and all the loogans he’s imported from back East. There’s the Bellmann outfit. They weren’t very efficient when they blew up the print shop the other day, but you can’t figure from that—”
“And by God! — most of them are in uniform,” Borg interrupted.
Beery smiled faintly, nodded. “Uh huh — we’re in a swell spot.”
Kells was staring at the ceiling. He said: “Now’s a good time to get out.”
Beery looked at Borg; Borg took a toothpick out of his vest pocket, stuck it in his mouth and went back to his solitaire.
“I didn’t mean that,” Beery said. “Only, what are we going to do?”
“Get out.” Kells’ eyes were fixed blankly on the ceiling. “I’ve been pretty lucky up to now. Partly because everybody that’s been against me has figured that the inside would get a big press spread if anything serious happened to me.”
He looked at Beery. “Through you — spread through you, I mean. That doesn’t make it very safe for you.”
Beery was looking at the floor.
“The luck’s beginning to run out,” Kells went on. “I dropped all the dough I’d made since I’ve been out here, on the island, because I was dumb enough to get heroic about that bitch Granquist — and she was Crotti’s plant all the time...”
Beery said: “You didn’t tell me about that.”
“I’m telling you now. She was sent out here by Crotti to look things over — start the organization ball rolling.”
“Well, well. Damned clever, these Swedes.” Beery sat down at the table.
No one said anything for a minute. Beery watched Borg play solitaire. Kells’ eyes wandered again to the ceiling.
“You’re absolutely right,” he finally said. “We’d better take a sneak while we’re all in one piece.”
Beery stood up and poured himself a drink. He waved the glass at Kells. He said: “We’ve gone too far — an’ it’s too much fun. We can still smack the Bellmann administration down — and anyway, these rats don’t know whether we’re strong or not. You’ll be up and around in a couple days — we can count on a hand from Fay, if we need it...”
Borg was staring at the cards. He said, “Sure,” without looking up.
“No.” Kells shook his head slowly. “It’s too tough. You boys have been a great help, but—”
“Shut up! You can crawl out if you want to, but I’ll stick — I’m having a swell time.” Beery grinned down at Kells, gulped his drink.
Borg looked up, said, “Sure,” quietly. He stood up.
Kells laughed. He glanced at the bottle on the bedstand, said: “Draw three, Shep.”
They had dinner sent up from Musso & Frank’s, on the Boulevard.
Doctor Janis stopped by about nine o’clock.
“Two days,” he said — “two more days at least. Then you can go out for a little while, if you take it easy — on crutches.”
Kells was sweating; his eyes burned and he yawned a great deal. He said: “Maybe I’d better have one more load in the arm, Doc — to sort of taper off on.”
“You’ll taper off on whiskey and milk, young fella — and like it.” The doctor put two small yellow capsules on the stand. “If you get too jumpy you can take these before you go to sleep.”
Janis and Beery went out together; Beery was going home. Borg played solitaire for a while and Kells sat up in bed, tried to read the papers.
Borg said: “Denny Faber is still trailing around with Gilroy.”
“You can call him off — Gilroy ought to be okay by now.”
At eleven Borg stood up, stretched, said: “I’m going byebye.” He went into the bedroom — Kells was on the wall bed in the living room. Borg came back in his underwear, got Kells a glass of water, made a pass at tucking him in.
“If you want anything,” he said, “just yell and fire a few shots and throw your shoe through the window. I’m a very light sleeper.”
Kells said he would.
Borg went back into the bedroom and Kells turned out the lights, tried to sleep. He heard the bell in the big church on Sunset Boulevard strike twelve. Rain drummed against the windows, and the wind was blowing.
Sometime around one he got up, hobbled into the bath. He scrubbed his teeth and got back to the bed by using a chair for support, hopping slowly on one foot. He took the capsules Janis had left, washed them down with whiskey and water. He slept after a while — heavily, dreamlessly.
When he awoke he lay rigid for a little while listening to rain beating against the windows. Then a voice whispered close to his ear: “Wake up — darling.”
Kells lay very still, turned his eyes toward the darkness.
Granquist said: “Wake up — darling.”
Kells moved his head until he could see the silhouette of her crouched body against the pale reflected light of the wall.
She spoke rapidly, breathlessly: “Are you all right, darling — can you walk? We’ve got to get out of here right away...”
He smiled a little and raised his head a little and said: “Will you please go away?”
She sank to her knees beside the bed and tried to take his head in her arms.
“Please,” she said. “We’ve got to go quickly. Please...”
Kells put her arms away and sat up and pulled the pillows up behind him. “How the hell did you get in?”
“I put on act for the night man — told him I wanted to surprise you. He came up and let me in with the passkey...”
“Go on — surprise me.”
“Gerry,” Granquist’s eyes were big in the faint light; drops of rain glistened on her small dark hat, her dark close-fitting coat — “I’ve been in an awfully bad spot since you shot up Crotti’s camp. I got away this afternoon when Fenner came out to do business about his confession — Crotti didn’t know anything about it but he let Fenner think he did...”
“What do you mean, Crotti didn’t know about it?” Kells put his hand on her wrist.
“I got to your coat first — I’ve got Fenner’s confession and his certified check for twenty-five thou — and your cash...”
She clicked open a small handbag, took out a handful of crumpled papers and currency, dropped it on the bed. He looked down at it a little while and then he let his head fall back again against the pillow, bent it slightly sideways.
He said: “You’re a strange gal.” He put his hand on her wrist again, held it tightly.
She tried to speak. She got up and walked to the window and then back, sat down on the edge of the bed.
Kells asked: “Why do we have to leave here?”
“Because you haven’t Fenner’s protection any longer — he thinks Crotti has this” — she nodded at the stuff on the bed. “The whole layout is against you now — Crotti, Rose, Fenner, the Bellmann people...”
Kells switched on the lamp beside the bed, unfolded and smoothed out the sheet of Lido stationery with Fenner’s shakily signed confession.
“We have this,” he said. “Fenner hasn’t played ball — I can stick it into him and break it off. And we’ve got around thirty-five grand. We’re in a swell spot to play both ends against the middle.”
“No, Gerry.” Her voice was harsh, strained. “Please, no, Gerry — let’s go away, quick. I’m scared...”
Kells was silent a while, looking at her abstractedly.
Then he said: “The middle against both ends, by God!” He put out one arm and cupped his hand against the back of Granquist’s neck and pulled her to him.
In the morning the sun came out warm, bright.
At about nine-thirty Borg came out of the bedroom in trousers and a green silk undershirt. Granquist had had things sent up from the commissary, was preparing breakfast in the kitchen. Borg leaned against the side of the door and looked at her and then he smiled blankly at Kells, said: “Well, well.”
“From now on” — Kells bent his head a little to one side — “Fenner’s on the other team.”
Borg went to the table and sat down. “I still like your side,” he said — “an’ I want to pitch.”
“You’re not very bright. See if you can get Faber on the phone — tell him to come up here.”
Borg reached for the phone, dialed a number.
Granquist brought breakfast in on a big tray. There was orange juice and an omelette and toast and coffee.
Borg finally got Faber and talked to him a little while, and then he looked up Woodward’s number in the Dell Building, downtown, dialed it, took the phone to Kells.
Kells said, “Hello,” asked for Woodward, and then he said: “This is Kells. If you come out to the Miramar Apartments on Franklin and Cherokee, in Hollywood, I think we might do a little business.” He hung up, smiled at Granquist.
“You’ll have to duck while he’s here, baby,” he said. “He’s the undercover legal representative for the Bellmann administration and you’re still number one suspect for Bellmann’s shooting — you’ll have to lay low till we hang it on Fenner and make it stick.”
She nodded.
After a little while someone knocked at the door; Borg got up and let Beery in. Beery threw his hat on a chair, stared with bright, surprised eyes at Granquist, said: “Well — it’s a small world.”
She smiled. “Coffee?”
Beery nodded and Granquist went out into the kitchen.
Kells said: “Fenner went out to see Crotti yesterday.”
Beery sat down, smiled down his nose.
“Now we don’t have to worry about kicking any of our crowd in the tail,” Kells went on, “because we haven’t got any.”
Beery raised his brows, said: “Crowd?”
“Uh huh — crowd.”
Beery glanced around the room, back to Kells. “Since this joint was Fenner’s suggestion,” he said, “wouldn’t it be a swell time to move?”
Kells shook his head slowly. “What for? Any of ’em can find me if they want me — and they’ll all be wanting to before long. This is as good a spot as any...”
Granquist came in with coffee and toast on a small tray, Beery stood up, bowed, took the tray and sat down.
Kells said: “I’m going to turn on the heat — Shep — only this time I’m going to make it pay. It’s been for fun up to now — now it’s for dough.”
Borg was playing solitaire at the table. He looked up, said, “Hooray,” dryly.
“The lady” — Kells inclined his head toward Granquist — “picked up all the stuff I lost at Crotti’s. Fenner thinks Crotti’s got his confession, but I’ve got it — and Fenner’s going to find out about that. So is Woodward, who ought to be willing to give his eye teeth — and the mayor’s eye teeth — for it. He’s on his way up here now.”
Beery lighted a cigarette.
“They can both buy it,” Kells went on, “and for plenty.”
He turned to Borg. “See if you can get Hanline at the Knickerbocker.”
Borg picked up the phone, dialed a number. After a moment he got up and handed the phone to Kells.
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 damned 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 house-phone rang: Borg answered it, said, “Send him up,” 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 — 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, 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, 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 ’em, 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 to the donnaker, 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 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 his wide-rimmed tortoise-shell 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 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 Lee 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 weren’t quite sure he had heard correctly.
“Lee 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, cleared his throat, said: “Who is Beery, who witnessed Fenner’s signature with you?”
Kells inclined his head toward 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 very melodramatically. “All we need is the ‘Old Homestead,’ some papier-maché 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 smiled at Woodward, 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 tie.
“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 toward 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 god-damned 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, 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 ash-tray. “It took me a couple of 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 toward the door.
“I’ll give you a tip, Lee,” Kells’ voice was low; 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 practising 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,” hung up.
He grinned at Granquist. “Twenty more. 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 toward Granquist. “The baby’s work. She used to be in the business — she went over to the Lido 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.
“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.”
There was a knock at the outer door and Granquist went into the bedroom; Borg got up and let Woodward in.
Woodward was very nervous. He put two neat sheafs of thousand- and 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 Hayward.”
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 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.