She’ll Hate Me Tomorrow

Chapter XII

It was just six p.m. when Ross got back to Club Rotunda. Sam Black hadn’t closed down the first-floor portion of the club, as this was an entirely legitimate business operation, and the dining room was well crowded with patrons.

In addition, there were seven cops clustered in front of the mirrored elevator doors. Two of them carried fire axes. Sam Black, wearing his stupidest expression, was listening to the leader of the squad.

Detective Lieutenant Niles Redfern was in charge of the raiding squad. He was a tall, lanky man with a lean, intelligent face and a perpetually morose expression. It was a tribute to his ability that he had ever made lieutenant in St. Stephen, for he wasn’t a part of the system. Personally incorruptible, he was also realist enough to know any attempt to reform the corrupt force for which he worked would only get him demoted, and long ago had settled for performing his job as honestly and capably as he could under the circumstances without stepping on any influential toes. Ross tended to like him.

However, his liking didn’t show on his face when he asked mildly, “What’s up, Lieutenant?”

“You’re just in time, Clancy,” Redfern said. “Your boy Sam insists you’re the only one with a key to the elevator, and I was just about to give the order to smash those pretty mirrored doors with an axe.”

The gambler’s black eyebrows raised. “You’re a little free with the city’s money, aren’t you, Lieutenant? Or don’t you think I’d sue for damages?”

Grinning sadly, the lieutenant held a search warrant under Ross’ nose. “You must have missed a pay-off to some politician,” he said cynically. “I have orders to confiscate all gambling equipment found on the premises.”

“What makes you think there’s any here?”

Lieutenant Redfern said in a bored tone. “You going to unlock that elevator, or you want us to use an axe for a key?”

“Be my guest,” Ross said, walking over to the mirrored doors and unlocking them with a small silver key.

Two of the policemen were ordered by the lieutenant to stay downstairs to make sure nothing was removed from the building. The other four, including the pair carrying axes, crowded into the elevator with Redfern and Ross. When Sam Black raised his eyebrows in mute inquiry as to whether or not Ross wanted him to come along, too, the gambler gave a slight shake to his head.

Lieutenant Redfern looked thoughtful when the doors closed and instead of one-way view glass, he was confronted by opaque metal. His expression turned glum after they got off the car at the second floor. Stopping in the archway of what had been the gaming room, he surveyed the small orchestra stand with a piano and microphone on it, and the linen-covered tables spaced uniformly about the room.

“We use this room for overflow from downstairs,” Ross explained blandly.

The lieutenant snapped orders and his squad began a thorough search of the room. After ten minutes of wall tapping, they gave up.

Grimly Lieutenant Redfern strode back into the small second-floor lobby and marched to the open door of one of the poker rooms. The round table was covered by a linen cloth and was set with silver service for eight.

“Private dining room,” Ross offered helpfully.

Ordering his men to stay in the lobby, the lieutenant checked the small barroom, the other poker room and Ross’ office. When he finished, he marched into the elevator cage without comment. His four men trailed after him, then Clancy Ross.

“Up,” Redfern said sourly.

Obediently Ross punched the button for the third floor.

The search of Ross’ apartment proved as unproductive as the search of the second floor. The police filed silently into the elevator again. Ross asked the lieutenant, “What were you looking for?”

“Gambling equipment,” Redfern snapped.

“In my apartment?”

“I’m searching the entire building.”

“Just for gambling equipment?”

The lieutenant looked at him suspiciously. “What else?”

Ross shrugged as he pushed the main-floor button. “Amos Morton was around earlier inquiring about one of my employees. Something to do with a shoplifting charge. This happens to be the girl’s night off, so I couldn’t help him. I thought maybe you had some wild idea that I’d taken up harboring criminals.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you,” Redfern said. “But my orders are just to confiscate gambling equipment. Incidentally, what time was Morton here?”

“Couple of hours ago.”

“Hmm. The accident must have happened just after he left here, then.” “What accident?”

“His driver made a sudden stop and bounced Amos’ nose into the windshield. He called in from City Hospital that he was having a busted beak taped up.”

That was the subtle hand of Bix Lawson, Ross thought. Amos Morton wouldn’t have had brains enough to decide on his own that having Ross arrested for assault would likely result in having the whole story of Stella Parsons plastered all over the papers. But the last thing Lawson would want would be newspaper publicity. Morton must have made a phone report to the racket chief and received instructions to forget the incident.

Thirty minutes later the lieutenant and his squad had covered the rest of the building, including the basement. They failed to turn up anything even as sinister as a pair of dice or a deck of cards.

As Redfern gathered his squad together to leave, Ross said politely, “Better luck next time, Lieutenant.”

The lieutenant grinned at him sourly. “You know, I like you in a begrudging sort of way, Clancy. But I’d pass up my next promotion to nail you solid on a gambling charge.”

“I like you, too, Lieutenant,” Ross said. “I hope you make captain, so you can sit at a desk and don’t have to go out on these exhausting raids.”

It was seven p.m. before the police finally left. Their presence had excited some curiosity among the patrons of the downstairs club, but as the raiding party hadn’t disturbed any of the customers, no one left. The place was pretty well crowded when Ross walked into the dining room and told Oscar the headwaiter that he’d like a table for dinner. Oscar placed him at one of the tables for two along the side wall.

The gambler had finished eating and was sipping his coffee when Sam Black carried an extension phone over to his table, set it down and plugged it into a wall jack.

“Call for you,” he said. “I think it’s Bix Lawson.”

Lifting the phone, Ross said, “Ross speaking.”

“I guess you think you’re pretty cute, don’t you?” Bix Lawson’s voice growled in his ear.

“I do my best to stay a jump ahead of dummies like you,” the gambler informed him. “I take it you’ve had word of the result of the raid.”

“That was only the beginning, Clancy. Until you put that girl in my hands, you can expect a raid every time you try to open your casino. You’re out of business unless you wise up.”

“I think I can squeeze by on income from the downstairs club, Bix. Don’t worry about me starving.”

“Are you going to come up with that girl?” Lawson demanded.

“Of course not.”

“Then maybe I’ll put you out of business downstairs, too,” Lawson said, and hung up.

Ross didn’t understand the meaning of the racket boss’ remark until the following evening when another call came from Whisper. The call came about ten p.m., at a time when Sam Black happened to be conferring with Ross in the second-floor office, so that Black heard Ross’ side of the conversation.

“Thanks for the fifty,” the informer said in his gravelly voice. “I picked it up from Oscar.”

“You’re welcome,” Ross said.

“I got another tip that ought to be worth a C.”

“All right, shoot.”

“The word is out that Bix Lawson has declared war on you.”

“That’s no tip. I’ve been expecting it.”

“Yeah? Well, do you know where the first hit is going to be?”

“That information might be worth something to me,” Ross conceded.

“Your joint is going to be messed up by a grenade after closing tonight.”

After a moment of silence, Ross said, “That’s worth a C. Do you know exactly when?”

“Only that it’ll be after closing. Bix don’t want no innocent bystanders hurt. He just wants to run you out of business.”

“I see. Thanks for the word, Whisper. You can pick up your money any time.”

When he hung up, Ross stared thoughtfully off into space for a few moments.

Black said resignedly, “This time it’s real trouble, huh?”

The gambler looked at him. “We have a little problem,” he admitted.

“Little, hell. When you get that expression on your face, it’s big trouble.”

“What expression?”

“Like you’re considering killing somebody. You’ve already got Bix Lawson, The syndicate, and the local cops mad at us. What happened now? Has the Marine Corps declared war on us?”

Ross gave him a humorless smile. “It’s only Bix. The downstairs club’s going to be bombed after closing tonight.”

Black’s expression became one of outrage. Though Ross was sole owner of Club Rotunda, the downstairs manager tended to regard the legitimate night club portion of the building as his private domain.

“Bix is going to bomb my club!” he said, coming to his feet.

Drawing a forty-five automatic from beneath his arm, he drew back the slide far enough to inspect the shell in the chamber, let it slam home again, set the safety and reholstered it. He started for the door.

“Where are you going?” Ross asked.

“To shoot the sonovabitch.”

“Whoa!” Ross said in a tone of command. “Come back here and sit down.”

Pausing with his hand on the knob, Black stared belligerently at his employer for a moment, then reluctantly returned to his seat. Ross regarded him curiously.

“Usually you try to put the brakes on me,” he said with ironic amusement. “This is kind of a switch.”

“Well, nobody’s blowing the hell out of my night club.”

Ross refrained from pointing out that it wasn’t Black’s night club. “You’d never get to Bix,” he said reasonably. “Now that he’s declared war, he’ll be surrounded by an army. We’ll handle it some less direct way.”

“How?”

“I don’t know,” Ross admitted. “But two guns against Lawson’s army of hoods sort of precludes a frontal attack. We’ll have to devise some way to hit him on the flank.”

Sam Black gazed at him in astonishment. “You mean you’re not going to wade right in with your customary disregard for odds? You’re actually going to do some thinking first?”

“I always think before I move,” Ross said with a touch of irritability. “Usually I think fast, is all. This is going to take a little more concentration than usual. We have several hours to make counterplans. Get out of here and leave me alone for a while.”

Black rose to his feet.

“And don’t get any ideas about independent action,” Ross said. “I’ll be downstairs to brief you as soon as 1 decide what to do.”

“All right, Clancy,” Black said stoically. I’ll be waiting with bated breath.”