Shake a Crooked Town

CHAPTER VII

Chief of Police Jack Riley's entrance into Johnny's room was impressive. Johnny was reminded of a younger, heavier Dameron. Another twenty pounds might reduce him to fat-man status but he still carried himself well. Johnny looked at the heavy gold badge on the blue uniform jacket, a badge identical in appearance to the torn one Carl Thompson had showed him in the hotel room.

“All right, Stewart,” the chief said. “Take the van and the others on back.”

“A change of plans?” Johnny inquired when the patrolman had left the room.

Chief Riley was in no hurry to reply. Without moving from where he stood, he examined the room deliberately. In some intangible way his manner irked Johnny. The chief finally returned his heavy-lidded gaze to Johnny. “You'd better leave town, Killain.”

“Yeah?” The measured pompousness of the pronouncement raised Johnny's hackles. “Like for what?”

“One of my men is in the hospital. I'm prepared to prove you led the gang that put him there. If I have to, that is. It might be a little less wearing all around if you just moved on.”

“This happen last night?”

“You know it happened last night.” Chief Riley's heavy features darkened in remembrance.

“I happen to have a pretty good alibi for last night.”

“You have no alibi for last night that will do you the slightest good.” The chief rapped out the words. “Am I making myself clear?”

“You mean your man will identify me?”

“He will.” Chief Riley said it positively.

“Let's go see him an' give him a chance,” Johnny said, knowing Riley had no such intention. “I'll bring my alibi along. Name of Lowell.”

The chief went red, white, and red again. Anger generated the color changes. “You're nothing but a goddamned agitator, Killain. I told Jim in New York you were-”

“Go ahead,” Johnny said softly as the angry voice ran down suddenly. “You told Jim what in New York?” The chief's hands clenched at his sides. “It's mighty funny the attraction New York seemed to have for Jefferson's officialdom the other day. Maybe you have an explanation for it?”

“The only thing I've got for you is a warning,” Chief Riley said between his teeth. “Be out of this town by noon or take the consequences.”

“Would you mind repeatin' that?” Johnny asked him. “I'm not sure the tape recorder caught it the first time.” He laughed at the chief's suspicious stare around the room.

At the laugh Riley went scarlet with rage. For a second, Johnny thought he was going to attack. If the thought had crossed his mind he quickly reconsidered. His voice shook. “Killain-”

Johnny gave him no time for threats or anything else. Moving swiftly, he crowded up against the chief who instinctively retreated. Johnny planted a heel deliberately on a well-shined toe and Riley flinched. “Drag it out've here, Riley,” Johnny said in a hard tone. He sank a casual elbow into the well-padded ribs and the chief gasped. “I've got you on tape now. You may have to roll over like a two-dollar whore for Daddario but I don't. The whole damn crowd of you are chickenshit to me.” Under the sharp prodding of careless feet and elbows the chief stumbled backward to the door. He landed out in the hallway in demoralized retreat without Johnny ever having laid a hand on him.

From the doorway, Johnny saw Mrs. Peterson standing wide-eyed at one side. Riley saw her, too. He made a pathetic attempt at a dignified exit. He waved a finger at Johnny. “Killain, I-”

Johnny moved toward him. The chief angled hurriedly to the stairs. In mid-flight, he stopped and turned. “Remember what I said. I'll-I'll-“ His voice shook. He faced about and tramped heavily down the balance of the steps. The lower floor shook from the violence with which he slammed the front door on his way out.

Valerie Peterson shook her head soberly. “That was a foolish thing to do.”

“The hell it was,” Johnny disagreed. “He's had me measured for a disappearin' suit from the minute he laid eyes on me. He just made a mistake figurin' I'd run the minute he swelled up his chest. Now he doesn't know whether I had a recorder in the room or not. I'll fix his wagon good now where it'll hurt, with his boss. Where does Daddario hang out when he's not dictatin' legislation for the city council to rubber-stamp?”

“He has a real-estate office a block off Main on Beacon.” Mrs. Peterson wagged her head disapprovingly. “I'll predict a building's going to fall on you. It's happened to better men in this town.”

“Better maybe, but not as lucky,” Johnny told her. “Beacon off Main. Right. Jimmy boy, break out the Sevres china. Two lumps. No cream, thank you.” He grinned at his landlady, did an exuberant little time step, and ran lightly down the stairs.

The real-estate office was larger than Johnny expected. From the sidewalk he could see a half-dozen desks behind a long counter. In one corner a private office with a frosted-glass door was partitioned off from the remaining floor space. There was no sign of Daddario. Two middle-aged women sprang to their feet from behind their desks as Johnny entered. “Yes, sir?” they chorused alertly. “Is there something-?”

A hand fell on Johnny's shoulder before he could speak. “I'll take care of it, girls,” Jigger Krata's heavy voice said. Johnny shook off the hand as he turned. Kratz had been sitting in a chair to the right of the entrance where he could look at the customers before they could spot him. Johnny noticed that up close there was a yellowish cast to the big man's eyes. Kratz studied him incuriously. “What's your business here, Killain?”

“I'm here to talk to Daddario.” Johnny leaned back with his elbows on the counter top cluttered with maps, pictures, brochures, staplers, ballpoint pens and boxes of paper clips.

“Jim's not here.” Kratz smiled a heavy-lipped smile, disclosing strong, gapped teeth.

“Maybe he's in there.” Johnny nodded at the private office.

“You're a little slow today, sonny,” Kratz said amiably. “To you he's not here, period.” He sounded bored.

Johnny turned as if to look at the office again. His right hand closed on a stapler. “Get him out here, Kratz. Before I go in there after him.”

“You could be a little big for your britches, Killain.” Kratz's voice was still mild. “This is a place of business and Jim's a busy man. You'd better run along.”

“Yeah?” Johnny pivoted and threw the stapler at the frosted-glass door of the partitioned-off office. The panel shattered in a burst of glass fragments. Muffled shrieks rose from the women behind the counter as Kratz charged. Johnny nailed him with a good left to the body on the way in. It didn't even slow him down. Arms like cable hawsers grappled with Johnny as they came together hard and thudded into the counter, half-sprawled along its top. Bracing his legs against Kratz's efforts to force him off his feet, Johnny sank both hands out of sight in the thick-set body. Kratz growled wordlessly and redoubled his attempt to force Johnny backward over the counter.

“Jigger! JIGGER!” The harsh voice cut like a sword. Johnny and Kratz eased back from each other cautiously as Jim Daddario stood in the office doorway, his face black with anger. Glass crunched under his feet. His expression turned even more choleric when he recognized Johnny. “Get in here,” he snapped. “Both of you.”

He stood aside to let them in, closed the door and drew a yellow curtain that restored some semblance of privacy. “Boss,” Kratz began.

“Shut up!” Daddario barked. “How many times do I have to tell you I want no donnybrooks around here?” He glared at Johnny. “What the hell do you want?”

“A net over Riley,” Johnny said.

“Riley?” The full-faced man removed his glasses. He looked from Johnny to Kratz and back again. “What about Riley?”

“He was just over at where I'm stayin',” Johnny said easily. “He gave me till noon to get out of town or else. I taped the whole conversation. I just mailed the tape to a friend of mine in New York. If he doesn't hear from me every twenty-four hours he mails the tape on to a Washington address we both know.”

Daddario's snapping black eyes slid off to Kratz. “Did you send him over there, Jigger?” he asked quietly.

“You know I never sent him no place you didn't say to send him,” the big man protested. “I never sent him there.”

Jim Daddario reached for his phone. “Police Headquarters,” he grunted. A hand tapped idly on a corner of his desk. “Riley,” he said. “Jack? Jim.” His voice gathered force. “What the hell did you think you were doing threatening this man Killain?” Veins swelled in his temples as he listened. This man really had a temper, Johnny decided. “Don't try to lie to me-he's standing right here in front of me! He taped your whole goddamn foolish conversation.” Scratchy sounds issued from the phone. “I'll do the damn thinking! You do what you're told! And the next time I won't just be telling you!” He banged up the receiver furiously.

“Too bad, Daddario,” Johnny needled him. “At least when you buy 'em they ought to stay bought.”

Jim Daddario never even looked at him. “Get over there before the blithering idiot has time to put a story together,” he said to Kratz. “I want to know why he did it. Shake him down to the holes in his socks.” Kratz glanced at Johnny. “I'll handle this,” Daddario said impatiently. “Get going.”

“Nice, tight little army you've got,” Johnny said admiringly when Kratz had gone. “Rudy and his friends pay the private taxes that subsidize it?”

“You've got a big, fat lip, Killain,” the realtor said coldly. “Button it while you can.”

“You sound like a big, brave boy. Are you forgettin' you sent your army off to the wars?”

“Killain, I've got a thousand things on my mind beside a two-bit slab of beef like you, but if you push me I could get around to you. As of now you're excused. Get out.”

“I only got half what I came for, hotshot. Where's Micheline Thompson?”

“I haven't the faintest notion.”

Johnny reached across the desk and took him firmly by the tie. “Jack your brains up, wise guy. It's time you learned a few manners.” Slowly and steadily he applied downward pressure on the tie until Daddario's head was forced down to the desk top. His face turned scarlet. His hand darted suddenly to a desk drawer.

Johnny dropped his grip on the tie and picked up the desk. Daddario screamed as the rising desk trapped his hand in the drawer. His chair went over backward and he hung by his hand from the desk for an instant before Johnny dropped it on him. Drawers and papers cascaded in all directions as Daddario lay winded, panting.

Johnny started around the upside-down desk after him. A gobbling noise from the phone on the floor distracted him. He picked up the receiver. “Police, police, police!” he could hear one of the women in the outer office babbling. He dropped the receiver.

He bent down beside the hard-breathing realtor and spoke slowly and distinctly. “The next time I ask you something, wise guy, have the answer handy.”

He walked lightly past the shattered door into the outer office. At sight of him, the woman at the phone shrieked and threw it away from her. Johnny waved at her. At the door he looked back. Jim Daddario's private office looked as if a tidal wave had rolled over it and Jim Daddario still lay amidst the debris.

Johnny touched off the kindling in the fireplace with a folded newspaper he used as a torch. Beside him, Jessamyn Burger watched as it alternately flared and dimmed until the birch logs began finally to crackle and sputter. Johnny sat back on his heels and looked up at her. “That appeal to your homemakin' instinct?”

“Don't make fun of me,” she said softly. She retreated to the nearer of the two chairs drawn up before the fire, but paused before she sat down. “Would you like a brandy to settle dinner?”

“If you have one, too.”

“I'm afraid I had too many cocktails. I feel-well, lightheaded.” She went to get his brandy and returned with a second glass with half as much in it. “I couldn't resist.” She handed him his glass as he sat in one of the chairs and with an outstretched leg he barred her from the other.

“One chair this size is big enough for two people,” he told her.

She exaggerated the lift of her brows. “I can see you're not the practical type. I'd crush my best dress.”

“Take it off.”

“Really, you're-”

“Take it off, Jessie.”

She smiled, a slow, helpless smile. “Then stay right where you are,” she warned him, and disappeared behind the bedroom door.

Johnny sat and watched the firelight's refractions from his brandy glass. He felt pleasantly relaxed. There was no sound from the bedroom. He sipped at his brandy. Jessamyn reappeared in the doorway and he set down his glass.

She had on a pale ivory negligee that nicely complemented her dark hair. Her pom-pomed mules had high heels and the heels contained clusters of rhinestones that twinkled brilliantly as she walked. She came directly to him and sat on the arm of his chair. Her face was calm and there was no coquettishness about her.

Johnny fingered a fold of the negligee. “No lace?” he asked her.

“No lace,” she agreed. “I'm practical, if you're not. Most women have lingerie they've never worn. Not little Jessie.”

“If what you are is practical I just hope it never goes out of style, baby.” They could both hear the deepened timbre in his voice.

She reached up over his head and turned off the floor lamp that was the room's only light except for the fire's dancing shadows on the white hearth. She bent down over him and unbuttoned the collar of his sport shirt and then the rest of the shirt down to his belt. She tried to span his neck with her two warm hands. “Heavens!” she said softly. “What size is your shirt?”

“Tent size,” he said, and with an encircling arm swept her from the chair arm down into his lap. She snuggled down against him and he could feel the moist pressure of her lips against his throat.

He could hear her lengthy sigh as she stretched generously. “You know I was told not to see you again,” she murmured in his ear.

“Yeah? Lucky for me you don't take orders. What was the reason supposed to be?”

“The questions you'd ask me.”

He increased the pressure of the arm around her until he heard the sibilant intake of her breath. “The answers to the questions I'm about to ask, little girl, you couldn't print in a family newspaper.” He dropped his free hand firmly on a round thigh.

She stirred on his knees as her breathing quickened. “I'd entertain a motion to declare a moratorium on questions and answers,” she said huskily.

“You've got one,” he said promptly. He shifted the position of his hands and stood up with her in his arms.

“Wait!” she commanded. “Put me down.” He complied, knowing it was no last-minute retreat. “Sit down again,” she told him. She knelt and removed his shoes, straightened up and took his hand and tugged him to his feet again. She removed his shirt completely. Her hands went to his belt and he lifted his own to assist her. “Let me!” she said urgently. He dropped his hands.

She stripped him, moving like an ivory wraith in the light of the fire. He couldn't see her face dearly, but he could hear her breathing. Her hands lingered on his arms, then on his shoulders and back. When her hands quieted his own moved rapidly. He picked her up again and felt her arms twine tightly about his neck.

In the bedroom he lowered her gently to the floor.

Through the open door only the faintest trace of the light from the fireplace's leaping flames pursued them. Her hands went to the neckline of her negligee. He captured the hands.

“My turn,” he said. He dealt with the negligee, unhurriedly. He disposed of the gossamer nightgown that couldn't have weighed more than an ounce and a half. He sat her down on the bed and removed the mules whose rhinestoned heels glittered even in the near-darkness.

Her hands came down upon his shoulders as he bent over her. She pulled mightily, and, overbalanced, he plunged forward upon her, his weight forcing her backward. Her smothered laughter was electric in its sexual excitement. Her resilient, perfumed flesh filled his nostrils.

The fire in his brain enfeebled the firelight on the walls.

Afterward, they lounged in the same chair before the dying fire renewed brandy glasses in hand. For a long time there was a minimum of conversation, but finally Jessamyn spoke after a preliminary clearing of her throat. “Goodness, I don't know what's happened to my voice, do you?”

“Yes. When you get-”

“Never mind,” she said hastily. “The time for conversation is before, not afterward.” She dropped her head on his shoulder. “Jim called me before you came over about what happened at his office. He was furious. You make it awfully hard for me to defend you.”

“Thanks for tryin' but it shouldn't be necessary,” Johnny said lazily. The air around him was pleasantly heady with the scent of woman and brandy. “Daddario can get rid of me in fifteen minutes. Less, if he makes up his mind.”

Her head came up from his shoulder. “He can? How?”

“By lettin' me talk to Micheline Thompson.”

“Are you in love with her?” she pouted.

“I've seen her twice in better'n fifteen years,” he said truthfully.

“Well? What's so important, then?”

“The first time was kind of special,” he explained. “I got wound up in this thing before I knew it, an' I do mean wound up. I got a thousand dollar axe of my own to grind but if the kid's in trouble I'd kind of like to straighten things out for her before I cut out of the deal.”

“You're a great deal more likely to be pushed out. Why should you feel an urge to straighten things out, as you say?”

“I can tell you but I don't know if you'll understand. A few thousand nights ago the kid an' I were caught in a real downdraft. By some very unpleasant people, who had their hands on her first. She was only fourteen but she knew what to expect, still she did her best to warn me so I could get out. I don't forget that kind of thing. If she needs a hand, I'm it.”

“Very noble, I'm sure.” He could feel her eyes upon him. “But are you sure it's worth it? Woman is an adaptable animal. She-Micheline, I mean-might have made adjustments of which you have no idea.”

“So let her tell me. Herself.”

She tried a new tack. “What makes you think it's Jim who is keeping her from talking to you?”

“Because he never let us out from under his eye in New York. An' because of what I can see goin' on in this town.”

“Such as?”

“I figure Jim Daddario an' Dick Lowell are milkin' this place dry. I figure you know it, too. Know it an' participate in it. When you cut Daddario loose emotionally you still retained a financial rootin' interest, didn't you?”

“You're very-blunt,” she said slowly. “Yet oddly delicate, too. We both know that it was Jim who cut me loose. He expects to go on to bigger things politically. He decided that I didn't have the qualifications to 'grow' with him.” Johnny could hear the bitterness in her voice.

“But he shut you up about what you knew by cuttin' you in on the take. You couldn't live like this on what you take home from the library.” He waited for her to speak.

“I'm not underpaid there. And I have no extraordinary expenses.” Her voice was low. “Of course you realize you're only repeating what the townspeople have been saying right along. It used to hurt, but I've developed an immunity.”

“Look, Jessie, if that's your story, good luck to you. I think there's somethin' you've forgotten, though. Jim Daddario hasn't forgotten it. He was in New York when Carl Thompson was killed. When the dirt starts comin' out from under the rug he could wind up charged with murder.”

“Jim would never do a thing like that.” Jessamyn said it confidently.

“Can you say the same for the people around him?” He waited but she was silent. “If he gets charged as an accessory, even, don't you end up as a tail on the kite?”

“You're just trying to talk me into something.” She sat up straight on his knees, trying to see his face. “Aren't you? What is it you expect me to say? Or do?”

“Tell me where I can find Micheline Thompson.”

“But I don't know!” She said it just a shade too quickly, Johnny thought. “Even if all you say should be true, which it isn't by any means, what makes you think Jim would confide in me?”

“Maybe because-”

“And don't say it's because he feels he can trust me.” Her words were staccato. “He jilted me, remember?” He could hear a distinct swallowing sound as her throat worked. “Jim Daddario trusts no one.”

“An' he has a real blast furnace of a temper,” Johnny suggested.

“Yes, he does,” she said before she thought. Her voice tightened as if she resented the inference. “But he's not a killer.”

“Did he throw you over because he was takin' up with Micheline?”

“Don't be ridiculous.” Her tone was sharp. “Why do you ask that?”

“I've heard it mentioned.”

“People will say anything.” An audible sniff conveyed her impression of people. “Next you'll be saying Jim had Thompson killed so he could marry the widow.”

“You think people aren't sayin' that, too?”

“It's doubly ridiculous. Jim Daddario is a hard-headed, practical politician. He and I might have known each other a little too well. The-bloom rubbed off. We split up. But Jim did a lot for me, and I'm grateful.”

“Suppose that some of the things you knew should all of a sudden be an anchor around the neck of this hard-headed politician? What would he do then, Jessie?”

“You're just trying to upset me!” She bounced up from his knees. “And I'm not going to let you.” Her voice softened. “We had a nice evening. Don't spoil it.”

“I wouldn't think of spoilin' it, baby.” He reached out and patted a plump hip. “I'm lookin' forward to others.”

“Do you say that to all the girls?”

He stood up from the chair and stretched mightily. “Only to the ones who combine enthusiasm with their know-how.” He reached out a casual arm and pulled her up against him. “You're all right, kid. More bounce to the ounce.”

She freed herself gently. “It's getting late. I won't turn on the light in the hall when I let you out. Goodnight, Johnny.”

“Goodnight, Jessie.” At the door he gave her arm a silent squeeze and walked quietly down the dimly lighted hallway.

He found that he wasn't surprised to discover Valerie Peterson waiting up for him when he let himself in with his key. “She rose from the chair in which she had been doing sentry duty, still swathed in the man's bathrobe he had seen previously. She wasted no time on preliminaries. “I'm sorry to have to say this but I'm-”

“You're goin' to have to ask me to remove my high-voltage carcass from the premises,” Johnny finished for her.

“You're right. I am. I'm not saying right this minute or even tomorrow, but I wish you'd look for another place.”

Johnny shrugged. “You're the doctor. Any particular pressure on you to have me move out?”

“No. It's just that there's too much lightning playing around your head. I've got a daughter to raise and a living to make. I can't afford to be in the middle on something like this.” Her eyes on his were steady. “Personally, I rather like you, but I know trouble ahead when I see it. I don't want any.”

“It's your house,” Johnny agreed. “I'll find a berth tomorrow.” He headed for the stairs.

Her voice stopped him. “You had a telephone message just a few minutes ago.” Johnny turned to her, his interest fired. “A man named Rudy said to be sure to let you know the big fish were biting.”

“Oh. That. Yeah.” Johnny's interest died. He found it replaced at once by a flicker of something else. His hand closed lightly on the roll of bills in his pocket. He glanced at his wrist watch. Why not sit in for a couple of hours? The game was a soft touch. “Maybe I'll take a look.”

“You're a gambler, among other things?”

He looked at Mrs. Peterson's disapproving face. “You know Rudy?”

“Everyone knows Rudy and all the rest like him.” She said it with distaste. 'That's what's the matter with this town. It was bad enough when Girl Thompson was running it like a business. A dirty business, but a business. Now it's an out-and-out racket and someone's going to get hurt. Dick Lowell should be ashamed of himself.”

“What can he do about it?” Johnny asked her.

“If he slept in his own bed nights Daddario never would have been able to undermine him on the council and get control.” Mrs. Peterson's voice was sharp. “He's not a Lowell. He's a weakling.”

“Yeah,” Johnny said vaguely. “Well, maybe he's got a problem or two of his own.” He started for the front door. “I'll clear out tomorrow. Sorry to have bothered you.”

He thought she was going to speak again, but she stood and watched him silently as he let himself out.