There was very dim yellow light coming from somewhere. There were voices. One was O’Donnell’s voice but it was from too far off to make out the words. Then the voices went away.
Kells moved his shoulder an inch at a time and turned his head slowly. It felt as if it might fall in several pieces. He closed his eyes. The yellow light was coming through a partially-opened door at the other end of a long dark storeroom. Kells could dimly see cases piled along the sides. He could see a man pitting on one of the cases, silhouetted against the pale light.
The man stood up and came over and looked down at him. Kells closed his eyes and lay very still and the man walked back and sat down and put his elbows on his knees, his chin in his hands. There was thin jazz music coming from somewhere above; the man tapped his foot, in time.
Kells watched him for a long time; then the man got up and came over again and lighted a match and held it down near his face. He went away through the door and closed it behind him. In the moment that the door was open Kells saw that the room was very big, and rounded at the end opposite the door — following the line of the ship’s stern. There were hundreds of cases piled along the sides. Then the door closed and it was dark.
Kells got up slowly, holding his head between his hands, took out a handkerchief and tried to wipe some of the dried blood from his face. He went swiftly to the door, found it locked. He leaned against the bulkhead, and sharp buzzing hammers pounded inside his skull.
In a little while he heard the man coming back. He stood flat against the bulkhead just inside the door, and when the man came in Kells slid one arm around his neck and pulled it tight with his other hand. The man’s curse was cut to a faint gurgle; they fell down and rolled across the deck. Kells kept his arm pressed tightly against the man’s throat and after a time he stopped struggling, went limp. Kells lay panting beside him for a few minutes without releasing his hold and then, when he was sure that the man was unconscious, got up. He stooped and fumbled in the man’s pockets, found a box of matches and a small woven-leather blackjack.
He went swiftly to the door, through to a narrow L-shaped room where unused chairs, stools, tables were stored. There was a hatchway with a steep-sloped stair leading down to another compartment. Kells went quietly down.
There was a paper-shaded light over the flat desk; there were two bunks. A man in overalls was snoring in one. There was a watertight door in one bulkhead and Kells went through it to a dark passageway that led forward along the ship’s side. About thirty feet along the passageway he stepped on something soft, yielding; he lighted a match and held it down to the drained face of the little man who had said “Please lock your hands together back of your neck.” There was a dark stain high on the front of his shirt; the heavy blue revolver was gripped in his outstretched hand. He was breathing.
Kells pried the revolver out of the little man’s hand and stood up. He balanced the revolver across his fingers and a kind of soft insanity came into his eyes. He shook out the match and went back along the dark passageway, through the compartment where the overalled man was sleeping, up to the L-shaped storeroom. In the far end of the L there was another narrow door. Kells swung it open softly.
Swanstrom was sitting at the desk with his back to the door. Another man, a spare thin-haired consumptive-looking man was sitting on a chair on the platform, one of the 30–30’s across his knees. He looked at Kells and he looked at the big blue revolver in Kells’ hand and he put the .30–30 down on the platform.
Swanstrom swung around and opened his mouth, and then he smiled as if he were very tired.
Kells said: “Twenty-four hundred, and goddamned quick.”
The thin moan of saxophones came down to them from somewhere above.
Swanstrom inclined his head toward the desk. He said, still with the tired smile: “I ain’t got a key.”
The lock of the other door clicked and the door opened and Rose and O’Donnell came in. They stood still for perhaps five seconds; O’Donnell was almost behind Rose. He closed the door and then he reached for the light-switch on the bulkhead. Kells squeezed the big Colt; O’Donnell fell forward to his hands and knees, shook his head slowly from side to side, sank down and forward onto his face.
Most of Kells’ face was dark with dried blood. His eyes were glazed, insane. He said: “Anybody else?”
He swayed. He moved slowly toward Rose. Swanstrom was staring at O’Donnell; Swanstrom stood up, and in the same instant someone knocked heavily on the door, the knob rattled. Someone shouted outside. Kells moved toward Rose. His cold eyes and the slim blue barrel of the revolver were focused on Rose’s belt buckle.
Rose licked his full lower lip, and sweat glistened on his dark forehead. He put one hand into his inside pocket and took out the folded sheaf of hundred-dollar notes, held them towards Kells.
Kells took them, nodded. He grinned, and the grin was a terrible thing on his bloody face. He backed slowly, carefully to the door through which he had entered, said, “First man through gets one in the guts,” backed out and closed the door.
He went swiftly to the hatchway, down. The man who had been asleep had gone. Kells went through the passageway to the little man, lighted a match and saw that he was conscious.
His eyes were open behind the thick glasses and he smiled up at the flare of the match, kicked viciously at Kells’ knee.
Kells said: “Now, now — Garbo.”
He gripped the little man by the collar and dragged him along the passageway. There was sudden faint light at the after end and he waited until a shadow came into the light, shot at it once, twice. The sound was like thunder in the narrow space.
They went on laboriously, Kells dragging the little man, the little man cursing him softly, savagely. The after end of the passageway was dark now. Kells sucked in breath sharply. There was acrid smoke in the darkness — something more than the smell of black powder. It was like burning wood. Kells pressed his body against the bulkhead, risked another match.
A little way ahead there was a large rectangular port — a coaling port — in the ship’s side, another on the inboard side of the passageway. The match flickered out and Kells edged forward, felt in the darkness for the big iron clamps. They were stiff from disuse but he strained and tugged until all but one were unscrewed, laid back. The last he hammered with the butt of the revolver until it gave; thrust all his weight against the plate. It creaked, swung slowly outward.
The sea was black, oily. The fog had thinned a little and the ship rolled lazily on a long even ground swell. Far to the left, Kells could see yellow sky over Long Beach, and to the right a distant winking light that might be the Eaglet. There was no sign of the launch.
Then he heard shouting and the sound of people running on the deck above him. He waited, listened, looked at the sea. The black water reddened; Kells leaned far out of the port and saw a long tongue of flame astern. As he watched, the water and the sky brightened. All the after quarter of the ship was afire.
When he again looked forward, a launch had rounded the bow, was idling about two hundred yards off.
Kells stuck the revolver in his belt, untied and kicked off his shoes. Then he took out the revolver, fired twice into the red darkness. By the mounting glow from astern he thought he saw a white hand, raised; the launch swung toward him in a wide circle.
He put the sheaf of crisp bills into his hip pocket, buttoned the flap. He took off his coat and threw it and the revolver into the sea. He picked the little man up in his arms, said, “Pull yourself together, baby — we’re going bye-bye,” got him somehow through the port, dropped him. Then he stood on the lower edge of the port, took a deep breath, dived. There was darkness and the shock of cold water.
He came to the surface a few yards from the little man, reached him in two long strokes and hooked one hand under his armpit. The shock had revived him — he struggled feebly.
Kells grunted, “Take it easy,” and swam toward the launch.
The red-faced man whom Kells had talked to on the wharf leaned over the gunwale; together they hoisted the little man aboard. Then the red-faced man helped Kells. He had been alone in the launch. He went to the wheel.
Kells took off his trousers and wrung them out. He said: “How come you’re alone?”
The red-faced man put his wheel hard over, spat high into the wind. “Fay said for you to go something yourself,” he said. “I went back to the wharf and then I got to worrying, so I come out by myself.”
Kells squatted beside the little man, looked back at the Joanna. Her after third was an up-and-down pillar of flame.
“Looks like a fire to me,” he said. He looked down at the white, drawn face. “You’ve been playing with matches.”
The little man smiled.
“It’s a fire, sure enough.” The red-faced man touched the-throttle. Then he added: “There ain’t much of a crowd. They’ll all have a lifeboat apiece.” He chuckled to himself. “You’re pretty wet — where do you want to go?”
Kells said: “Eaglet.” He put on his pants.
Fay sat in a big chair behind a desk. He was a very big, powerfully muscled man with straight black hair, a straight nose, empty ice-gray eyes.
There was a woman. She sat on one side of the desk with a large glass in her hand. She was very drunk — but in a masculine way.
Kells stood across from Fay. His expression was not pleasant. He said: “What’s it all about? Were you trying to get me killed?”
Fay said: “Why not?”
The woman giggled softly.
Fay turned his head without changing his blank expression, looked at the little man who had been carried into the cabin, laid on a couch. “Who’s your boy friend?”
The woman said: “Nemo Kastner of KC — little Nemo, the chorus boy’s delight.”
Kells looked at the woman. She was blonde — but darkly, warmly. Her mouth was very red without a great deal of rouge, and her eyes were shadowed and deep. She was a tall woman with very interesting curves.
Fay said: “This is Miss Granquist.”
Kells nodded shortly. He took a bottle and a glass from the desk, went to the little man.
Fay got up and went to one of the ports. He looked out at the Joanna, spur of fire against the horizon. “Beautiful!” he said — “beautiful!” Then he turned and went over to where Kells knelt over little Kastner.
Kells held a glass of whiskey to Kastner’s mouth. Kastner drank as if he wanted it very much.
Kells looked up at Fay. He dipped his head toward Kastner, said: “This is the young fella who rubbed Doc.”
Fay twisted his mouth to a slow sneer. His eyes dulled. He said: “You shot Doc, you son of a bitch — and tried to hang it on Ruth.”
Kells stood up slowly.
Kastner laughed quietly, carefully, as though it hurt his chest. “God almighty!” he said — “what a bunch of suckers.” His lisp was soft, slight.
Kells and Fay stood looking at one another for a little while. Then the woman said: “You’d better get a doctor for his nibs,” She was sitting with her elbows on the desk, holding her face tightly between her hands.
Kastner shook his head. He laughed again as though moved by some secret, uncontrollable mirth. There was a little blood on his mouth.
Kells said: “You want a drink.” He poured more whiskey into the glass and sat down beside Kastner.
“What a bunch of suckers!” Kastner looked at the glass of whiskey. He looked at and through Kells. “Rose called Eddie O’Donnell and me after you left him this afternoon. He said Dave Perry had called while you were there — told him that Doc was at the joint in Hollywood waiting for you...”
Kells held the glass to Kastner’s mouth. He drank, closed his eyes for a moment, went on: “Perry knew Rose was going to have Doc bumped — an’ he knew Rose wanted to frame it for you. Only he’d figured on doing it on the boat. It looked like a good play.”
Kells said: “Why me?”
Kastner coughed and held one hand very tightly against his chest. “Rose thinks you’re a wrong guy to be on somebody else’s shoe — an’ he wanted to tie it up to Fay.”
Kastner’s dark, near-sighted eyes wandered for a moment to Fay. “Rose figures on airing everybody he ain’t sure of — he’s got a list. That’s why he sent for Eddie an’ me. He wants to move in on the whole town — him and Dave Perry and Reilly.”
Kastner stopped, closed his eyes. Then he went on with his eyes closed: “Doc was in their way — and besides, Rose wanted the boat for himself.”
Kells poured more whiskey into the glass. He said: “The Joanna came out tonight; how did they get the load?”
Kastner said: “She came out last night, an’ they worked all night transferring cargo from a couple schooners — twelve hundred cases. The play was to run it in, three cases to a launch, each trip. They’ve got a swell federal connection at the wharf — the point was to get it by the cutters.”
Kastner coughed again. “That’s about all.”
Fay went back to the desk, sat down. Kells held the glass of whiskey toward Kastner but Kastner shook his head. Kells drank a little of it.
Kastner went on listlessly: “Eddie an’ me went to Perry’s an’ I busted in and waited for you. Doc was scared. That’s the reason he’d wanted to see you: he had some kind of an in on what Rose was going to do an’ wanted help. He was scared pea green.”
Kells grinned at Fay.
Kastner twisted on the couch. Suddenly he spoke very rapidly, as if he wanted to say a great many things all at once: “Eddie waited down on the street to give me a buzz on the downstairs bell when you started up. Rose had called Reilly an’ he was all set with three men to make the pinch — two in front an’ one in the alley.”
Kells asked: “How come you sapped Dave?”
“He was putting on an act for the girl so she wouldn’t think he was in on it. He got too realistic.”
Kells looked at Fay, spoke to Kastner: “I thought Reilly was Lee Fenner’s man.”
“He was. He was Fenner’s best spot in the Police Department until Rose started selling him big ideas.” Kastner’s little face was growing very white.
Kells said: “There’ll be a doctor here in a minute — I sent the launch ashore for one.” Then he walked to a port and looked out at the paling sky. He spoke without turning: “Reilly’s the Lou that Rose and O’Donnell were waiting for at the hotel...”
“And he’s the Lou they were waiting for on the boat — so they could let you have it resisting arrest — make it legal.”
Kells went over to the desk. Fay was abstractedly playing with a small penknife; the woman still sat with her face between her hands.
Kells turned his head toward Kastner, asked very casually: “Who popped you?”
Kastner smiled a little. He said: “I don’t remember.”
The woman laughed. She put her hands on the table and threw her head back and laughed very loudly. Kastner looked at her and there was something inexpressibly cold and savage in his eyes.
Kells bent over the desk and took up a pen and wrote a few words on a piece of paper. He took the paper and the pen over to Kastner, said: “It’ll make things a lot simpler if you sign this.”
The little man glanced at the paper and his eyes were suddenly dull, empty. He said: “Nuts.” He grinned at Kells, and then his face tightened and he died.
Kells and Fay sat at a table in Fay’s apartment in Long Beach. The woman, Granquist, was asleep in a big chair. It was about eight-thirty, and outside it was gray and hot.
Kells said: “That’s the way it’ll have to be. None of us is worth a nickel as a witness.”
Fay sipped his coffee and sat still for a little while; then he got up and went to the telephone and called Long Distance. He asked for a number in Los Angeles, waited a while, said: “Hello. This is Grant Fay. I want to talk to Fenner...” There was a pause and then he said: “Wake him up.”
He waited a little while and then he said: “Hello, Lee... There’s a friend of mine here with an idea...”
Fay gestured and Kells got up and went to the phone. He said: “This is Kells... Reilly’s double-crossing you. He and Jack Rose aim to take over the town. They’re importing a lot of boys from the East, and you’re on the wrong side of their list...”
There was a long silence during which Kells held the receiver to his ear and grinned at Fay. Then he said: “My idea is that you reach Ruth Perry right away. She’s incommunicado but you can beat that. Tell her there isn’t any use trying to protect Dave any longer for Haardt’s murder. Tell her that I said so... Then see that she gets bail. When Dave finds out she’s confessed, he’ll have a lot of things to tell you... Sure — he’s guilty as hell.”
Kells hung up and went back to the table. He said: “That oughta be that.” He sat down and poured himself another cup of coffee and inclined his head toward Granquist.
Fay said: “She came out to the boat last night and said she’d been here a week or so from Detroit. She says she’s got a million dollars’ worth of information that she wants to peddle for five grand. She says it’ll crack the administration wide open and that we can call our own shots next election.”
Kells laughed quietly.
Fay went on expressionlessly: “I told her I wasn’t in politics and wasn’t in the market for her stuff, but she thought I was kidding her. She soaked up a couple bottles of Scotch and finally got down to twenty-five hundred. A few more slugs and she’d probably sell for a dollar ninety-eight. She said she needs new shoes.”
Fay’s Negro houseboy came in from the kitchen and cleared away the breakfast things.
Kells stood up. He said: “I’m going to take a nap while the wheels of justice make a couple turns.” He went to the bedroom door, turned and spoke to the boy: “Call me in two hours.” He went into the bedroom.
When the houseboy woke Kells, Fay had gone. Kells asked the boy to make some more coffee, shook Granquist awake.
“How about some Java?”
She said: “Sure.”
They sat at the table and drank a great deal of coffee. Kells sent the boy out for a paper. RUTH PERRY CONFESSES HUSBAND SHOT HAARDT was spread across the front page.
Kells said: “Ain’t nature wonderful!” He got up and put on a suit-coat Fay had given him. “I’m going to town.”
Granquist said: “Me too. Can I ride with you?”
They went down and got into a cab and went to the parking station near the P & O wharf where Kells had left Cullen’s car.
It was very hot, driving into Los Angeles. Kells took off his coat and drove in his shirtsleeves. His face was battered and Fay’s shoes hurt his feet and he wanted very much to get into a bathtub and then get into bed.
He said: “Did you come out with Kastner and O’Donnell?”
Granquist looked at him out of the corners of her eyes, smiled sleepily. She said: “Uh huh.”
“You O’Donnell’s girl?”
“My God, no! I just came along for the ride.” She slid down into the corner of the seat and closed her eyes.
Kells said: “Do you think O’Donnell shot Kastner?”
He looked at her. She nodded with her eyes closed.
He parked the car off Eighth Street and they went into a side entrance of the hotel, up the service stairway to Kells’ room. He said: “I’ll have to go downtown for questioning this afternoon — if they don’t pick me up before. I want to have four or five hot baths and a little shut-eye first.”
He went into the bathroom and turned on the water, took off his clothes and put on a long dark-green robe. When he came out, Granquist had curled up on the divan, was asleep. She had taken off her hat — awry honey-colored hair curved over her face and throat.
The telephone buzzed while Kells was in the tub. It buzzed again after he’d got out. He answered it, stared vacantly out the window and said: “All right — put her on.” Then he said: “Hello, Ruth... Swell... No, I’ve got to go out right away and I won’t be back until tonight. I’ll try to give you a ring then... Sure... Okay, baby — ’bye.”
Granquist stirred in sleep, threw one arm above her head, sighed. Her eyelids fluttered. Kells stood there for a while looking at her.
At one-thirty, Kells got out of a cab and went into the Sixth Street entrance of the Hayward Hotel. In the elevator he said: “Four.” Around two turns, down a short corridor, he knocked at a heavy old-fashioned door.
A voice yelled: “Come in.”
There were three men in the small room. One sat at a typewriter near the window. He had a leathery good-natured face and he spoke evenly into the telephone beside him: “Sure... Sure...”
The other two were playing cooncan on a suit-box balanced on their laps. One of them put down his hand, put the suit-box carefully on the floor, stood up. Kells said: “Fenner.”
The man at the telephone put one hand over the mouthpiece, turned his head to call through an open door behind him: “A gent to see you, Lee.”
The man who had stood up walked to the door and nodded at someone in the next room and turned to Kells. “In here.”
Kells went past him into the room and closed the door behind him.
That room was larger. Fenner, a slight, silver-haired man of about fifty, was lying on a bed in his trousers and undershirt. There was an electric light on the wall behind the bed. Fenner put down the paper he had been reading and swung up to sit facing Kells. He said, “Sit down,” and picked up his shoes and put them on. Then he went over and raised the blind on one of the windows that looked out on Spring Street. He said:
“Well, Kells — is it hot enough for you?”
Kells nodded, said sarcastically: “You’re harder to see than De Mille. I called your hotel and they made me get a Congressional Okay and make out a couple dozen affidavits before they gave me this number.” He jerked his head toward the little room through which he had entered. “What’s it all about?” Fenner sat down in a big chair and smiled sleepily. He took a crumpled package of Home Runs out of his pocket, extracted a cigarette and lighted it. “About a year ago,” he said, “a man named Dickinson — a newspaperman — came out here with a bright idea and a little capital, and started a scandal sheet called the Coaster.” Fenner inhaled his cigarette deeply, blew a soft gray cone of smoke toward the ceiling. “He ran it into the ground on the blackmail side and got into a couple libel jams...”
Kells said: “I remember.”
Fenner went on: “I got postponements on the libel cases and I got the injunction raised. Now it’s the Coast Guardian; A Political Weekly for Thinking People. Dickinson is still the editor and publisher, and” — he smiled thinly — “I’m the silent partner. The first number comes out next week — no sale, we give it away.”
Kells said: “The city campaign ought to start rolling along about next week...”
Fenner slapped his knee in mock surprise. “By George! That’s a coincidence.” He sat grinning contentedly at Kells. Then his face hardened a little and a faint, fanatical twinkle came into his eyes. He spoke, and it was as if he had said the same thing many times before: “I’m a wording boss, Mister Kells. I gave this city the squarest deal it ever had. They beat my men at the polls last time but by God they didn’t beat me — and next election day I’m going to take the city back.”
Kells said: “I doubt it.” He smiled a little to take the edge off his words, went on: “What did you get from Perry?”
“Nothing.” Fenner yawned. “I got to his wife right after you called and gave her your message and arranged for her bail. She’s witness number one for the State. It took me a little longer to beat the incommunicado on Perry, and when I saw him and told him she had confessed, he closed up like a clam.”
Kells took off his hat and rubbed his scalp violently with his fingers. “It must have taken a lot of pressure to make a yellow bastard like him pipe down.”
Fenner said: “Who killed Haardt?”
“Perry’ll do for a while, won’t he?” Kells put on his hat.
“Are you sure you’re in the clear?”
“Yes.” Kells stood up. “You’ve got enough to work on. Lieutenant Reilly, who was your best in the force, is in a play with Jack Rose to take over the town and open it up over your head. Dave Perry was in on it. They want it all — and they figure that you and I and a few more of the boys are in their way.”
He walked over to the window and looked down at the swarming traffic on Spring Street. “Doc Haardt was in their way — figure it out for yourself.”
Fenner said: “You act like you know what you’re talking about.”
“I do.”
Fenner went on musingly: “One of the advantages of a reform administration is that you can blame it for everything. Maybe opening up the town for a few weeks isn’t such a bad idea.”
“But it’s nice to know about it when you’re supposed to be the boss...” Kells smiled. “And it won’t be so hot when it gets so wide open that a few of Reilly and Rose’s imports from the East come up here and shove a machine gun down your throat.”
Fenner said: “No.” Me — I’m going to scram,” Kells went on. “I came out here to play, and by God if I can’t play here I’ll go back to Broadway. My fighting days are over.”
Fenner stared quizzically at Kells’ bruised, battered face, smiled. “You’d better stick around,” he said, “I like you.”
“That’s fine.” Kells went to a table and poured himself a glass of water from a big decanter. “No — I’m going down to the station and see if they want to ask me any questions, and then I’m going home and pack. I’ve got reservations on the Chief: six o’clock.”
Fenner stood up. “That’s too bad,” he said. “I have a hunch that you and I would be a big help to one another.”
He held out his hand. Kells shook it, turned and went to the door. Then he turned again, slowly. “One other thing,” he said. “There’s a gal out here — name’s Granquist — came out with a couple of Rose’s boys; claims to have a million dollars’ worth of lowdown on the administration. I can’t use it. Maybe you can get together.”
Fenner said: “Fine. How much does she want?”
Kells hesitated a bare moment. “Fifteen grand.”
Fenner whistled. “It must be good,” he said. “Send her out to my hotel. Send her out tonight — I’ll throw a party for her.”
“She’ll go for that. A lush.” Kells smiled and went out the door and closed it behind him.
He went into the Police Station, into the Reporters’ Room to the right of the entrance. Shep Beery looked up over his paper and said: “My God! What happened to your face?”
They were alone in the room. Kells looked with interest at the smudged pencil drawings on the walls, sat down. “I got it caught in a revolving door,” he said. “Does anyone around here want to talk to me?”
“I do, for one.” Beery put the paper down and leaned across the desk. He was a stoop-shouldered gangling man with a sharp sad face, a shock of colorless hair. “What’s the inside on all this, Gerry?”
“All what?”
Beery spread the paper, pointed to headlines: PERRY INDICTED FOR HAARDT MURDER; WIFE CONFESSES. Beery’s finger moved across the page: GAMBLING BARGE BURNS; 200 NARROWLY ESCAPE DEATH WHEN JOANNA D SINKS.
Kells laughed. “Probably just newspaper stories.”
“No fooling, Gerry, give me a lead.” Beery was intensely serious.
Kells asked: “You or your sheet?”
“That’s up to you.”
Kells trailed a long white finger over his discolored right eye. “If you read your paper a little more carefully,” he said, “you’ll find where an unidentified man was found dead near a wharf at San Pedro.” He put his elbows on the desk, leaned close to Beery. “That’s Nemo Kastner of Kansas City. He shot Doc Haardt on Jack Rose’s order and helped frame it for me. He was shot by O’Donnell, his running mate, when they had an argument over the cut for Haardt’s kill. He set fire to the ship—”
“... And swam four miles with a lungful of lead.” Beery had been thumbing through the papers; pointed to the item.
“Uh huh.”
“Who shot O’Donnell?”
Kells said: “You’re too god-damned curious. Maybe it was Rose. Is he going to live?”
“Sure.”
“That’s swell.” Kells took a deep breath. Now that’s for you,” he said, “Perry’ll have to take the fall for Doc’s murder for the time being; he was in on it plenty, anyway. Kastner’s dead and I couldn’t prove any of it without getting myself jammed up again. If anything happens to me you can use your own judgment, but until something happens that is all under your hat. Right?”
Beery nodded.
Kells stood up, said: “Now let’s go upstairs and see if the captain can think of any hard ones.”
They went out of the room into the corridor, upstairs. Captain Larson was a huge watery-eyed Swede with a bulbous, thread-veined nose.
Beery said: “This is Kells... He thought you might want to talk to him.”
The captain shook his head slowly. He looked out the window and took a great square of linen out of his pocket and blew his nose. “No — I don’t think so,” he said slowly. “Cullen and the cab driver say you was at Cullen’s house yesterday afternoon when Haardt was shot.”
He looked up at Kells and his big mouth slit across his face to show yellow uneven teeth. “Was you?”
Kells smiled faintly, nodded.
“That’s good enough for me.” The captain blew his nose again noisily, folded the handkerchief carefully and put it in his pocket. “Perry’s the only one who says you killed Doc. Lieutenant Reilly thinks you did but we can’t run this department on thinks... I think Perry’s guilty as hell.”
They all nodded sagely.
Kells said: “So long, Captain.” He and Beery started out of the room.
The captain spoke again as Kells went through the door: “Where was you last night?”
Kells turned. “I was drunk. I don’t remember.” His eyes glittered with amusement.
The big man looked at him and his face wrinkled slowly to a grin. “Me too,” he said. He slapped his thigh and laughed — a terrific crashing guffaw. His laughter followed Kells and Beery down the stairs, through the corridor, echoing and re-echoing.
Beery said: “See you in church.”
Kells went out into the sunlight, walked down First to Broadway, up Broadway to his bank.
The teller told him he had a balance of five thousand, one hundred and thirty dollars. He asked that the account be transferred to a New York bank, then changed his mind.
“I’ll take it in cash.”
The teller gave him five thousand-dollar notes, a hundred, a twenty and a ten-dollar bill. Kells took the sheaf of twenty-four new hundred-dollar bills out of his pocket and exchanged twenty of them for two more thousand-dollar notes. He folded the seven thousand-dollar notes and put them in a black pin-seal cardcase, put the case in his inside breast pocket. He put the five hundreds and the smaller bills in his trouser pocket and went out and got into a cab.
He said “Ambassador” and looked at his watch. It was two-forty; he had three hours and twenty minutes to get home and pack and make the Chief.
“Gerry.” Granquist called to him as he crossed the lobby.
He waited until she had crossed to him, smiled ingenuously. “Gerry in the hay, baby,” he said gently. “Mister Kells in public.”
She laughed softly — a metallic softness.
Kells asked: “Did you get my note?” Uh huh.” She spoke rapidly, huskily. “I woke up right alter you left, I guess. Your phone’s been raising bloody hell. I’m going home and get some sleep...”
She held out a closed, black-gloved hand; Kells took his key.
He said: “Come on back upstairs — I’ve found a swell spot for your stuff.”
“Oh — yeah?” Her face brightened.
They went to the elevator, up to Kells’ room. Granquist sat in a steel-gray leather chair with her back to the windows, and Kells walked up and down.
“Lee Fenner has been the boss of this town for about six years,” he said. “The reform element moved in last election, but Fenner’s kept things pretty well under control — he has beautiful connections all the way to Washington...”
He paused while Granquist took out tobacco and papers, started to roll a cigarette.
“You wanted to sell your stuff to Fay for five grand,” he went on. “If it’s as good as you think it is we can get fifteen from Fenner... That’s ten for you and five for me” — he smiled a little — “as your agent...”
Granquist said: “I was drunk when I talked to Fay. Fifteen’s chicken-feed. If you want to help me handle this the way it should be handled we can get fifty.”
“You have big ideas, baby. Let’s keep this practical.”
Granquist lighted her cigaret, said: “How would you like to buy me a drink?”
Kells went into the dressing room and took two bottles of whiskey out of a drawer. He tore off the tissue-paper wrappings and went back into the room and put them on a table.
“One for you and one for me.” He took a cork-screw out of his pocket.
The phone buzzed.
Kells went to the phone, and Granquist got up and took off her gloves and began opening the bottles.
Kells said: “Hello... Yes — fine, Stella... Who?... Not Kuhn, Stella — maybe it’s Cullen... Yeah... Put him on...”
He waited a moment, said: “Hello, Willie... Sure...”He laughed quietly. “No, your car’s all right. I’ll send one of the boys in the garage out with it, or bring it out myself if I have time... I’m taking a powder... The Chief: six o’clock... Uh huh, they’re too tough out here for me. I’m going back to Times Square where it’s quiet... Okay, Willie. Thanks, luck — all that... G’bye.”
He hung up, went to the table and picked up one of the opened bottles. He said: “Do you want a glass or a funnel?”
Granquist took the other bottle and sat down, jerked her head toward the phone. “Was that on the square — you’re going?”
“Certainly.”
“You’re a sap.” She tilted the bottle to her mouth, gurgled.
Kells went to a little table against one wall, took two glasses from a tray and went back and put them on the center table. He poured one of them half full. “No, darling — I’m a very bright fella.” He drank. “I’m going to get myself a lot of air while I can. The combination’s too strong. I’m not ambitious.
“You’re a sap.”
Kells went to a closet and took out two traveling bags, a large suitcase. He took the drawers out of a small wardrobe trunk, put them on chairs.
“You’d run out on a chance to split fifty grand?” She was elaborately incredulous.
Kells started taking things out of the closets, putting them in the trunk. “Your information is worth more to Fenner — than anyone else,” he said. “If it’s worth that much he’ll probably pay it. You can send me mine...”
No, god-damn it! You stay here and help me swing this or you don’t get a nickel.”
Kells stopped packing, turned wide eyes toward Granquist. “Listen, baby,” he said slowly, “I’ve got a nickel. I’m getting along swell legitimately. You take your bottle and your extortion racket, and screw...”
Granquist laughed. She got up and went to Kells and put her arms around his body. She didn’t say anything, just looked at him and laughed.
The wide, wild look went out of his eyes slowly. He smiled. He said: “What makes you think it’s worth that much?”
Then he put her arms away gently and went to the table and poured two drinks.