Shills Can't Cash Chips

Chapter Two

I went to a car rental agency, signed up for a convertible, put the top down, and drove to Colinda.

I cruised around the Miramar Apartments until I had spotted Doris Ashley’s automobile. Then I found a parking place, and settled down to wait.

About two-thirty a vivid brunette, who walked impatiently as though her good-looking legs were trying to push the sidewalk out of the way, came bustling out of the apartment house and climbed into the car.

I followed her to the Colinda Supermarket.

I was playing it by ear, without any prearranged plan.

I had to make a pickup but didn’t know just how to go about it. The old gag of letting my shopping cart swerve and lock a wheel with hers might work. It depended on her mood. But even if it worked, when she got to thinking back on it, she’d find lots of things fishy about my approach. I couldn’t afford that.

As someone has said, there are a million approaches you can use to get acquainted with a good-looking girl but none of them is any good unless the girl happens to be in the mood.

The parking spaces near the market entrance were well filled. Most of the vacant spaces were at the extreme end of the parking lot. Doris drove slowly, looking the situation over, then drove to the very end of the parking lot and parked her car up against a wall on the right-hand side. She opened the door on the left and slid out, giving me a flashing glimpse of nylon and leg.

She slammed the car door behind her without even looking back and walked with her short, quick steps into the supermarket.

There was a vacancy on the left and I parked my car so close to hers that she couldn’t possibly open the left-hand door. She was close enough to the wall on the right so she couldn’t open that door.

A tall, rangy man parked a Ford sedan next to my car.

I took the keys out of my car, put them in my pocket, went over to a shady place by the corner of the market and waited.

I didn’t have long to wait.

Doris came out carrying a brown paper bag filled with groceries. She hurried over toward the place where she had left her car, started to insinuate herself between my convertible and her car, then saw the predicament she was in, hesitated, walked around to the right-hand side and tried to get in there, only to find that the wide door wouldn’t open far enough to let her get in.

She looked around, frowning. I could see she was good and mad.

She set the bag of groceries down, walked over to my convertible, looked it over, then reached across to the steering wheel and sounded the horn.

I waited a few minutes, then came sauntering along as though looking for someone, did a double-take when I saw Doris, and turned my head away.

“Is this your car?” she snapped.

“No, ma’am,” I said.

She frowned.

“Why?” I asked. “Is something wrong?”

“Is something wrong!” she stormed. “Look at the way this moron has parked. I can’t get my car door open and I’m in a hurry.”

“Well, what do you know,” I said.

She looked me over and said, “What do I know? I’ll tell you what I know. I know what I think of the man who parked that car. I can tell you a lot of things I know about him, but you probably wouldn’t think I know the words. Is there any way we can move that damned car? Can we push it back?”

I said, “He’s probably in the market. We might be able to find him.”

“Sure, we might. We could go in there and page him over the loud-speaker,” she said. “I don’t want to do it. There are lots of people in that market. I... I’d like to let the air out of his tires.”

I said, “I could move it if...”

“If what?” she asked.

“I’d hate to get caught,” I said.

“Doing what?”

“Short-circuiting the ignition.

She looked me over from head to foot and said, “How long would it take?”

“About ten seconds.”

She turned on the charm. “Well?” she asked. “What’s holding you back?”

I said, “If I should get caught... I’d go back—”

She showed red lips, pearly teeth, and blinked her big black eyes at me. “Please,” she said. “Pretty please!”

I went over to the car, looked furtively over my shoulder, jumped in behind the wheel, took out my knife, scraped insulation from two of the wires, took a short piece of wire from my pocket, jumped the switch, started the car, backed it out and smiled at her. “This all right, lady?” I asked.

She opened her car door, put in the bag of groceries, hesitated a moment, then deliberately elevated her short, tight skirt as she slid in, giving me lots of scenery.

She started her motor, backed her car.

I moved the rented car back up into the position it had previously occupied, opened the left-hand door and got out.

She beckoned me over.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Donald,” I said.

She smiled seductively. “I’m Doris,” she said, “and you’re a dear, Donald. How did you learn how to do that?”

“I learned in a hard school, lady,” I said.

“Doris,” she corrected.

“Doris,” I said.

“And you took a chance and did that for me?”

“Yes.”

“You’re a dear,” she said once more, and gave me the benefit of her smile. “What are you doing here, Donald? You’re not shopping. Are you waiting for someone? Your wife in there shopping?”

“I don’t have a wife.”

“Girl friend?”

“I don’t have a girl friend.”

“Why not, Donald?”

“I haven’t had the chance to make any contacts — yet.”

“What’s been holding you back?”

“Circumstances over which I have no control.”

“Donald, I might be able to help you. Tell me, what are you doing hanging around here?”

I let her see that I was hesitating, then finally I said, “It’s one of the checkers. I want to talk with him but I don’t want to talk with him when anyone’s around and — they’re busy in there.”

“They’ll be busy in there for a while,” she said. “Why don’t you see him when he gets off work?”

“I guess I’ll have to.”

Her eyes were pools of invitation. “Want a ride uptown?”

“Gosh... thanks.”

I walked around the car, opened the door and got in. She made a token gesture of pulling her skirt down with thumb and forefinger, moving it perhaps a sixteenth of an inch.

“I’m going to the Miramar Apartments,” she said. “Is that where you’d like to go?”

“Where are the Miramar Apartments?” I asked.

“Three-fourteen Chestnut.”

“I guess so,” I said. “It’s all right with me. That is, one place is just like another.”

She backed the car, spun the wheel, made a boulevard stop at the main street, swung out into traffic, flashed me a glance and said, “Look, Donald, you’re down on your luck. Right?”

“Right.”

“How did you know how to jump-wire that car?”

“Oh, I just knew,” I said.

“Have you ever done that before?”

I kept my eyes on the floor boards of the car. “No.”

“You don’t have to lie to me, Donald. You had that short piece of wire in your pocket. You were hanging around that parking lot. Now tell me why.”

I hung my head.

“Donald, tell me. Have you ever been in trouble?”

“No.”

“That checker in there you wanted to see, had you known him somewhere? Perhaps in some institution?”

“No.”

“Donald, you’ve been around, you know that you could have got in serious trouble if the owner of that car had come out and caught you jumping those wires. You’d have been in a serious predicament. You know that, don’t you?”

I nodded.

“All right. Why take that chance?”

“Because you — you smiled.”

“Do my smiles do that to you, Donald?”

“Your smiles, your figure, and your legs,” I said.

“Donald!”

I looked back over my shoulder. The tall, gangling guy in the Ford sedan was two cars behind us.

I suddenly fumbled at the car door. “If you wouldn’t mind stopping,” I said, “I’d better get out here, lady.”

“The name is Doris,” she said.

“I’d better get out here, Doris.”

“I’m going to the Miramar Apartments, Donald. That’s where I live.”

A signal light turned against us. She pressed a delicate, high-arched foot on the brake pedal. “I live there,” she repeated.

“Good-by, Doris,” I told her. “You were wonderful.”

I opened the door, jumped out and slammed the car door shut.

She started to say something but the light changed and the driver of the car behind her pressed the horn button gently.

She looked at me almost wistfully for a moment, then drove on.

The tall, rangy driver of the Ford sedan was looking for a parking place but couldn’t find one. He reluctantly moved on with the string of traffic.

I walked back to the supermarket, fitted my key to the ignition lock and drove back to the city, turned the car in and called Bertha.

“Where are you now?” Bertha asked.

“I’m back in town,” I said. “I’ve been to Colinda.”

“Donald, there’s something fishy about that case.”

“Are you just finding that out?”

“Now, don’t be smart. That secretary of yours, Elsie Brand, and those clippings you’ve been having her save.”

“What about them?”

“She’s been looking through the personal ads, trying to make a good job of it— My God, the way that girl worships the ground you walk on. What the hell do you do to women, anyway? What are you going to do, marry her? You’d better.”

“I will if you insist,” I said. “Of course that would make her a partner in the firm.”

“Make her what!” Bertha screamed into the telephone.

“A partner in the firm.”

“You go to hell. I’m not going to have any damn secretary marrying into my business.”

“All right then, I won’t marry her. What did she find out?”

“The insurance company has been running a blind ad.”

“What is it?”

“It’s an ad offering one hundred dollars for any witness who will testify as to an accident taking place at Seventh and Main Streets in Colinda on August thirteenth, involving a rear-end collision.”

“How do you know it’s the insurance company?”

“It has to be. Nobody else would have money enough to offer a hundred dollars a witness.”

I said, “Why would the insurance company want witnesses? They’re going to admit liability. They don’t have a leg to stand on as far as the liability is concerned.”

“All right, I’m telling you what’s in the paper,” Bertha said. “You better check in the Colinda paper and see if there’s anything in there.”

“Good idea,” I told her. “I will. I’ve got some news for you, Bertha.”

“What?”

“I’ve been wearing a tail.”

“You have.”

“That’s right.”

“Where have you been?”

“Colinda, and back.”

“How do you know you’re being shadowed?”

“Rear-view mirrors and general observation.”

“Donald, what the hell goes on in this case?”

“I don’t know,” I told her. “Not yet.”

“Do you suppose they shadowed Lamont Hawley to our office?”

“I wouldn’t know,” I said, “but he should.”

“Then there’s something back of this whole business. You’d better watch your step.”

“Oh, no,” I told her. “This is one of those nice conservative cases, remember? This is the kind of respectable work that you want us to handle.”

“The hell of it is,” Bertha yelled into the telephone, “this thing is loaded with dynamite and you know it! Why did that Hawley guy stop in the doorway and tell you there was an element of danger in the case? What the hell was he trying to do?”

“Trying to keep me from running head-on into something I couldn’t handle,” I said.

“Then why didn’t he tell us that when he was briefing us on the case, and tell us what it was?”

I was careful to wait until Bertha had finished talking so my shot would tell, and then said, “Because if he’d been frank with us, you’d have fixed a fee commensurate with the amount of work and danger involved. As it was, he suckered you into fixing a nominal fee. He’d have paid ten thousand just as quick as he’d have paid one, and—”

The inarticulate roar at the other end of the line could only mean one thing.

I gently hung up the telephone before Bertha’s screaming indignation could melt the wires in the receiver.

I picked up the agency heap and drove to my apartment, taking it easy and keeping an eye on the rear-view mirror. There was no tail.

I made it a point to get the morning newspapers when they came out late that evening. I looked in the personal ads. Sure enough, there was the ad, but this time they boosted the ante. The ad read: “Will pay $250 for contact with witness who saw rear-end collision 7th and Main, Colinda, August 13th at 3:30 P.M. Box 694-W.”

I clipped out the ad, pasted it on a sheet of paper and scribbled beneath it, call Mayview 6-9423 and ask for Donald.

I addressed the envelope to the box number on the ad and put it in the mail.

Mayview 6-9423 was the number of Elsie Brand’s private telephone.

I called her. “Hi, Elsie, how’s tricks?”

“Fine, Donald. Where are you?”

“I’m in town.”

“Oh, was there something you wanted?”

“Yes, Elsie. If somebody telephones and asks for Donald, be just a little cagey. Tell whoever it is that I’m in and out but that you’ll take a message for me. If they want any information or ask for my last name, tell them I’m your brother.”

“Are you supposed to be living at this address, Donald?”

“Perhaps.”

“Wouldn’t it be rather awkward, having a brother living in this single apartment?”

“Okay,” I said, “tell them I’m your husband.”

“That would be even more embarrassing.”

“All right,” I said, “which would you prefer, to have it awkward or to have it embarrassing?”

“Which would you prefer, Donald?”

“Better leave it just awkward,” I said. “Out of consideration for your feelings. Tell them I’m your brother.”

“Anything you say,” she said.

“Sleep tight,” I told her, and hung up.

The next day I went to the car rental place and got a Chevrolet sedan. I drove to Colinda.

As nearly as I could find out, no one had the slightest interest in my movements. Aside from normal traffic I had the road all to myself. I drove fast and I drove slow. I couldn’t find anyone following me.

I got to Colinda and bought a newspaper.

There wasn’t anything in the want ad column about advertising for a witness who had seen the August 13th accident.

I went to the traffic department at the police station and looked up the records.

There was a routine report that had been made by Carter Jackson Holgate on the day after the accident, mentioning that he had collided with the rear end of a vehicle at Seventh and Main Streets at three-thirty P.M.; that the other car involved was license number TVN 626 and was the property of Vivian Deshler, living at the Miramar Apartments; that damage had been estimated at $150 to the front end of Holgate’s automobile; that the damage to the rear of the other car had been “negligible.”

I drove out to the Miramar Apartments. Doris Ashley’s car was in the parking lot.

A little after two, she emerged from the apartment house and started walking with her characteristic short snappy stride to the parking lot.

I waited until her back was turned, started my car, drove to the supermarket, parked it and went inside.

Doris entered the market, picked up a shopping cart, made a few purchases and started toward the checker.

I walked up to the checker and lowered my voice. “Look, Buddy,” I said, “I’d like to open up a line of credit.”

He shook his head. “We’re cash.”

“But this would only be a short-term credit. I’d just like to have—”

He shook his head again. “I’m sorry,” he said. “We just don’t give credit, not to anybody. We wouldn’t give credit to the President of the United States. We’re on a cash basis here. If you want to cash a check, that’s something else again. I can refer you to the manager. But no credit.”

“Not even for an amount up to five dollars?” I asked.

He shook his head vehemently.

I looked up and saw Doris Ashley standing there staring at me, taking in the whole situation. She couldn’t have heard the conversation but she saw the man shaking his head and saw me turning away.

“Donald!” she exclaimed.

“Hello,” I said dejectedly.

“Donald, wait for me. Wait, I want to talk with you.”

She hurried up to the checking counter, said, “Check these through, please, and give me my change.”

She dropped twenty dollars in front of the checker, hurried through and took my arm.

“Donald, why did you duck out on me yesterday?”

“I... I was afraid I was going to go out of control.”

“What do you mean, out of control?”

“I said something I hadn’t intended to.”

“What, about your past? You didn’t tell me anything.”

“No, about... about your legs.”

She laughed. “What about my legs, Donald?”

“They’re wonderful.”

“Silly boy!” she said. “Did you think I didn’t know I had good-looking legs? They’re part of me, I use them to walk around with and when I want to impress somebody — well, I did give you a good look, Donald, when you were nice to me and had started that car for me.”

“You’re not angry because I—”

“I’d have been angry if you hadn’t.”

The checker said, “Here you are, ma’am, three dollars and twelve cents and here’s your change out of the twenty.”

Doris moved over to the paper bag.

I hesitated for just the right period of time, then said, “May I?” and picked up the bag for her.

I carried it out to the car.

“Just put it in back, Donald.”

I put it in back and held the car door open for her.

“What are you going to do now, Donald?”

“Going back to San Francisco.”

“You saw the person you wanted to see?”

“Yes.”

“Get what you wanted?”

“No.”

“Get in,” she said.

“I—”

“Get in. I’ll give you a ride uptown — and don’t jump out on me this time.”

I got in the car.

Doris had her short skirt up to the hemline of her stockings and this time she didn’t make the gesture of pulling it down.

She backed the car out of the stall, drove out of the parking lot and as we left the parking lot I got a glimpse of the tall, rangy individual who had been driving the Ford yesterday. This time he was driving a nondescript Plymouth that had seen plenty of use.

We got into traffic. The Plymouth was four cars behind.

Doris said, “Donald, you’re lonely, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.”

“And you’ve been starved for... for feminine companionship?”

“Could be.”

“And you’re going to San Francisco, Donald, and you’re going to get into trouble. You wanted something here. What did you want — to get a job in that supermarket?”

“Could be.”

“And because you couldn’t get it, you’ve given up the idea of going straight. You’re going to San Francisco — why?”

“I know somebody there.”

“Man or woman?”

“Woman.”

“Young?”

“So-so.”

“Attractive?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve known her before?”

“Before what?”

“Before you got in trouble.”

“Could be.”

“Donald, you know what’ll happen. You’ll need money and you’ll meet some of the old gang up there and the first thing you know you’ll be in trouble all over again and be back.”

“Back where?”

“San Quentin.”

She looked at me with a sidelong, searching gaze.

I hung my head and didn’t say anything.

“Donald, I want you to do something.”

“What?”

“Come up to my apartment.”

“Huh?” I said, jolting to quick attention.

“I just want to talk with you,” she said. “I want to find out something about you. Perhaps I can help you. Are you hungry?”

“Not too hungry.”

“But you’re hungry?”

“I could eat.”

She said, “Look, I’ve got a nice filet mignon in the ice box. I’m going to cook that for you and you’re going to sit down and relax. You’re under some sort of tension and it bothers me. You’re too nice to just go drifting back into trouble.”

“You’re taking an awful lot for granted,” I told her.

“People have to take each other for granted sometimes.”

I didn’t say anything for a while, but watched her driving the car.

“Like them today, Donald?” she asked.

“What?”

“The legs.”

“They’re wonderful.”

She smiled.

We drove in silence until we came to the apartment house. She parked in the vacant lot.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw the tall, rangy guy in the Plymouth park at the curb half a block away.

I got out of the car, walked around and held the door open for her.

She swung her knees from under the steering wheel and slid to the ground. “You can take the bag of groceries, Donald.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said.

“Doris,” she said.

“Yes, Doris.”

I took the bag of groceries and closed the car door. We walked to the apartment house and went up in the elevator.

Doris walked down to her apartment, fitted the key to the door, walked in and said, “Make yourself at home, Donald. Would you like a drink?”

“I don’t think I’d better.”

“It is a little early,” she said. “I’m going to cook you a nice steak.”

“No,” I said, “you don’t have to. I—”

“Hush,” she said. “You sit right down in that chair and be comfortable and I’m going to broil that steak and I’ll talk with you while the steak’s broiling.”

I sat in the comfortable chair she indicated.

Doris moved around with swift efficiency.

“You’re not going to have much in the line of vegetables,” she said, ‘but you’re going to have a darned good steak, with bread and butter and potato chips and coffee... How do you like your steak, rare, medium...?” she hesitated.

“Rare.”

“Good,” she said.

“You?” I asked her.

“I’ve just had breakfast, not too long ago — besides, I’m watching my figure.”

“So am I,” I told her, and then caught myself up short.

She laughed and said, “Go ahead and watch, Donald. I don’t mind.”

She plugged in a coffee percolator, put the steak in the broiler, and came over and sat on the arm of my chair.

“Are you looking for something to do, Donald?”

“Yes.”

“Perhaps you could do something for me.”

“What?”

“A job.”

“I’d love it.”

“It might be — well, a little risky.”

“I’d take risks for you.”

“Donald, don’t keep moving away from me. I’m not going to bite you.”

“I’m afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

“Afraid of what I might do.”

“What might you do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Donald, you’re lonely. You’ve been deprived of women for so long you’ve forgotten how to treat one. Put your arm around my waist. Here... like this.”

She took my arm. I put it around her waist.

She smiled down at me.

I tightened my arm.

She slid off the arm of the chair into my lap and her arm was around my neck. Her lips were pressing against mine. Then her mouth opened slowly and she melted into my arms.

After a minute she said, “Donald, you’re wonderful. Now be a good boy for a few minutes. I’ve got to watch that steak.”

She slid down off my lap and went to the broiler, took a long-handled fork, turned the steak over, put the fork down and was starting back to the chair, her eyes starry, her lips parted, when the buzzer sounded on the door.

For a moment her eyes were startled and incredulous. Then she half-whispered, “No, oh, no!”

The buzzer sounded again.

Doris came running to me. She grabbed my hand, pulled me up out of the chair. “Quick, Donald,” she whispered. “In this closet. In there. Stay there. It’ll only be a few minutes. Quick!”

I showed apprehension. “Your husband?” I asked.

“No, no, I’m not married, silly. It’s— Quick, in here.”

She led me to a door and opened it. It was a long closet, stretching the length of the room, with feminine wearing apparel in one side and a wall bed which swung out on a door on the other side.

I slipped in among the garments and she swung the door closed. Then I heard the door of the apartment open and a man’s voice said, “What’s cooking?”

She laughed and said, “Coffee.”

I heard him come in and close the door. I heard the rustle of motion, then the man’s voice saying, “Hey, this chair is warm.”

“Of course it’s warm,” she laughed. “I was sitting there. I’m warm — or didn’t you know?”

“I know,” he said.

Again there was silence for a minute. Then the voice said, “What you been doing, Doris?”

“Shopping.”

“Anything new?”

“Not yet.”

“Something’s got to break pretty quick.”

“Uh-huh.”

I could hear her moving around in the kitchenette, then the aroma of coffee. I heard a cup against a saucer.

“Did you notice the ante’s gone up?”

“What ante?” she asked.

“For witnesses to the accident. It was a hundred dollars yesterday. Today’s paper makes it two hundred and fifty.”

“Oh,” she said.

There was quite an interval of silence. Then the man said, “You haven’t heard anything?”

“No, of course not, Dudd. I’d tell you the minute I had anything new.”

There was another interval of silence. Then the man’s voice said, “I’m afraid of that damned insurance company. If they keep messing around they’re going to upset the applecart.”

“And you think they’ll keep investigating?”

“If their suspicions once get aroused, they’ll investigate until hell freezes over,” he said. “We haven’t got too much time. You have to milk the cow when the milk’s there. When the cow goes dry there isn’t any use trying to milk her— What the hell’s burning?”

“Burning?”

“Yes. Smells like meat burning.”

“Oh, my God,” Doris said. I heard her quick steps on the floor, then the man’s voice said, “What the hell! What’s all this?”

The smell of burning meat permeated even into the closet.

“What the hell are you doing?” the man asked.

“I forgot,” she said. “I was cooking a steak. I left it in the broiler and forgot when you came in.”

“What were you cooking a steak for?”

“I was hungry.”

“What are you trying to pull?”

“Nothing. I was just cooking a steak. My God, haven’t I a right to cook a steak in my own apartment?”

I heard steps; heavy, authoritative, belligerent steps. Then a man’s voice said, “Okay, Sweetheart, I’ll just take a look around. I’ll just see for myself what’s going on here.”

I heard a door open and shut. I heard Doris saying, “Don’t, Dudd, don’t,” and then the sound of a body crashing against the wall as he evidently pushed her to one side.

Steps approached the closet where I was hiding.

I opened the door and stepped out.

The big man who was striding toward the closet came to an abrupt halt.

“You looking for me?” I asked.

“You’re damned right I’m looking for you,” he said, and started for me.

I stood looking at him, not moving.

Doris said, “Dudd, don’t. Dudd, let me explain.”

He had his eyes on mine, his lip curled with hatred. I saw the blow coming but didn’t try to dodge. The next one would have caught me anyway. I stood there and took it.

I felt myself sailing over backwards. The ceiling spun around in a half-circle, something batted the back of my head and I went out like a light.

When I came to there was still the smell of burnt meat all through the apartment. Doris was talking, her voice rapid and frightened. I heard the words from a distance. They registered in my ears but didn’t seem to mean anything to my brain. “Can’t you understand, Dudd? This is the man we’ve been looking for. We can use him. I picked him up and was getting acquainted with him. I wanted to make sure about him and then I was going to turn him over to you.

“Now you’ve gone ahead and spoiled things.”

“Who is he?” Dudd asked gruffly, his voice still suspicious.

“How do I know? His name is Donald and that’s all I know He is fresh out of San Quentin. He came here trying to get a job in the supermarket. One of the checkers there was in prison with him and Donald thought this man could help him, but the fellow wouldn’t have anything to do with him. I saw him give Donald the brush-off hard.

“That was when I stepped into the picture and—”

“How do you know he’s been in San Quentin?”

“He’s done time,” she said. “You can tell. He denies it but there’s no question about it. He’s been in trouble and he hasn’t been out very long. He’s just starved for decent companionship.”

“And what kind of companionship were you going to give him?”

“All right. If you want to know, I was going to get him over being lonely.”

“I’ll bet you were.”

“I was going to find out about him and then if everything was on the up and up I was going to tell you about it.”

“How do you know he was in San Quentin?”

“The way he got acquainted with me.”

“How was that?”

“My car was hemmed in by another car. He short-circuited the wires back of the switch so he could get the car back out of the way. I guess he’s a professional car thief. He had a short piece of wire in his pocket so he could jump the current back of the switch.”

There was a period of silence, then the man said, “Dammit, don’t try doing things alone! I’ve told you I’m furnishing the brains of this operation. All right, get a Turkish towel soaked in cold water and we’ll try and bring the guy to.”

Their voices still seemed to be coming from a long way off. It seemed to me they were discussing some subject that had nothing to do with me.

I heard the man’s feet, then water dripped on my forehead, then an icy cold towel was put on my face. Someone pulled the zipper on my pants, jerked my pants down, my undershirt up, and I felt the cold, wet towel on my stomach.

My stomach muscles tightened involuntarily. I gasped and opened my eyes.

The big man was bending over me, his expression one of puzzled curiosity. “Okay,” he said. “That does it. Get up.”

I made a couple of abortive attempts and he reached down, grabbed my shoulders, jerked me to a sitting position, then hooked a big ham of a hand in mine and jerked me to my feet.

He looked me over and abruptly commenced to laugh.

“What’s the trouble?” I asked.

“Stick your shirt in your pants and pull up the zipper,” he said.

He took the wet towel which had dropped to the floor and threw it across the apartment in the direction of the bathroom. It hit with a soggy thump on the waxed floor, and Doris ran and picked it up, vanished in the bathroom and was back in a moment, to stand looking at me apprehensively. “Are you... are you all right, Donald?”

“I don’t know,” I said, and tried to grin.

“No hard feelings,” the man said. “I’m Dudley Bedford. Who are you?”

“Donald.”

“What’s your last name?”

“Lam.”

“Come again.”

“Lam.”

“L-a-m-b?” he asked.

“Lam,” I said. “L-a-m.”

Bedford thought for a moment, then threw back his head and laughed. “I get it now,” he said. “You’re on the lam, huh?”

“No,” I told him, “that’s my name.”

“Got a driving license?”

“Not yet.”

“How long you been out?”

I kept silent.

“Come on,” he said, “how long have you been out?”

I let my eyes shift from his. “I haven’t been in.”

“Okay, okay, have it your own way. Now, what the hell are you doing here?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “This girl was kind enough to offer me a steak.”

“Sit down over here,” Bedford said. “I want to talk with you awhile.”

“I don’t want to talk with you. I’m finished. I didn’t know she was married.”

“She isn’t married,” Bedford said. “There’s enough girl there for you and me and six more just like us. I don’t own her and she doesn’t own me. I’m working with her. Now, the question is, do you want to work with us?”

“No,” I said.

“What do you mean, no?”

“I mean no.”

“You don’t know what the proposition is yet.”

“Of course I know what it is.”

“How do you know?”

“You told me.”

“What did I say?”

“You asked me if I wanted to work with the two of you and I said no.”

“Oh, I see,” he said, “smart. Like that, eh?”

“Like that,” I said. “I know what I don’t want.”

“Well, what do you want?”

“I want a chance to get a respectable job.”

“How do you know we weren’t offering you a respectable job?”

“You didn’t have the right approach.”

He said, “All right. I’ll try another approach.”

“Try it,” I invited.

“You know who I am?”

“No. You said your name was Bedford, that’s all I know.”

“You know how I got in here?”

“You rang the buzzer.”

“Smart,” he said. “Awful smart. Too damned smart. You could get another sock in the puss.”

“I probably could.”

He said, “For your information, I happen to be the owner of the car you tampered with yesterday. I saw you getting out of the car and getting into a car with Doris here. It happens that I knew Doris so I came up to find out what the hell she was doing having somebody tamper with my car.

“Now then, Donald Lam, it’s your turn. You can talk for a while.”

“What... what do you want me to talk about?”

“You can talk about anything you damn please,” Bedford said, “but if I were you, and in your position, I’d start talking about some reason why I shouldn’t go to the police and tell them that I saw you tampering with my car; that I found insulation scraped off the wires where someone had jumped the switch. In case you don’t know it, although I think you do, it’s a crime to be caught tampering with someone else’s car.

“Now then, that’s what I’d talk about.”

I looked at Doris out of the corner of my eye. She winked.

I said, “All right, what was I going to do? Your car was blocking the lady’s car so that she couldn’t open her door and get the groceries in.”

“All right, all you had to do was to go into the market and ask for me. I’d have moved the car.”

“There wasn’t time for that.”

“You must have been in a hell of a hurry.”

“She was.”

“I don’t think I’m going to take that explanation.”

“It’s the only one there is.”

He thought for a while and said, “You know, I could use you. You could do a job for me and then we’d be square. How would that be?”

“What kind of a job?”

“Something that would require a little daring, a little tact and a little discretion, and then when you got done you’d be all square with the world and if you did a good job you’d have a hundred dollars in your pocket. How would that suit you?”

“That hundred dollars in my pocket would suit me fine,” I said, “but I don’t think I want the job.”

“Why not?”

“It sounds...”

“Sounds what?” he asked, as I hesitated.

“Sounds like something you’re afraid to do yourself.”

He threw back his head and laughed. “Don’t be silly,” he said. “I’m not afraid to do any job, but I’m not in a position to do this one.”

“What is it?” I asked.

“Now,” he said, “you’re talking. You’re getting co-operative.”

He reached in his inside pocket, pulled out a wallet, took out a folded column from a newspaper and handed it to me.

The ad had been circled in red pencil, the ad offering a reward of two hundred and fifty dollars for anyone who was a witness to the accident on August 13th at Seventh and Main Streets in Colinda at three-thirty P.M.

“What about it?” I asked.

He said, “You were a witness to that accident.”

“I was?”

“That’s right.”

I shook my head. “I wasn’t anywhere near here. I—”

“Listen,” he said, “you do too much talking when you should be listening. Now sit tight and listen. Have you got that straight?”

“All right.”

“That’s better,” he said. “You were here in Colinda. You were walking down the street. You saw the accident. A car, a big Buick, driven by a man who didn’t seem to be paying too much attention to traffic conditions, rammed into the car ahead. That was a light sports car, one of these low, racy jobs. It was driven by a babe. You’re not sure about the make of the car. The impact caused the babe’s head to jerk back violently. You saw that much.

“The babe was all alone in the sports car. She was blonde, about twenty-six years old, and you saw her when she got out of the car. She was a good-looking babe, just about the right height and weight, neatly dressed — a good-looking chick.

“She and the man got together and showed each other their driving licenses. You went on. You weren’t particularly interested. The accident didn’t seem to be serious and they evidently didn’t think so, because when you were down the street at the next intersection the two cars drove past you. The Buick had a broken radiator and water was trickling out from it, but the other car didn’t seem to be damaged at all, except for a dent in the rear of the body. The girl didn’t seem to be hurt.”

“What do you mean, ‘seem to be’?”

“She looked and acted perfectly normal.”

“Was I walking or riding?”

“You were walking.”

“What was I doing in Colinda?”

“What were you doing in Colinda?” he asked.

“I... I don’t know. I’d have to think it over.”

“Start thinking.”

Bedford turned to the girl. “You got some writing paper here?”

She opened a drawer in a desk and handed him a sheet of stationery.

“Some paste.”

“No paste. I have some household cement.”

“That’s good. Let’s try the household cement.”

She handed it to him.

He cut the clipping out of the paper, pasted it to the sheet of stationery, said, “Now we’re going to have to have an address.”

“He can stay at the Perkins Hotel,” she said.

“That’s good,” he said. “Perkins Hotel.”

“I’d have to have some expense money,” I said.

He nodded casually. “That’s easy... Okay, now write on here as I dictate.”

I took the pen he handed me.

“Sit down here at the table.”

I sat down at the table.

“Now write, ‘My name is Donald Lam. I saw the accident mentioned. You can reach me at the Perkins Hotel.’

“Now sign it, ‘Donald Lam.’ ”

“Now, wait a minute,” I said. “Is this going to get me into any trouble?”

“Not if you do exactly as I say.”

“Then what happens?”

“Then someone gets in touch with you.”

“Then what?”

“Then you tell your story.”

“That’s where they catch me,” I said.

“They catch you in that and I’ll break every bone in your body,” Bedford said.

“Suppose my story doesn’t agree with the facts?”

He grinned and said, “The facts will agree with your story. I want you to remember what I told you. You saw the man driving the big Buick. He looked a little bit tired. He wasn’t paying too much attention to what he was doing. He was in a stream of traffic. He had tried to cut out around the stream of traffic, saw he couldn’t make it and had ducked back in, but he was going faster than the traffic ahead.

“There’s a signal at Seventh and Main. It changed and the traffic ahead slowed to a stop. This man was a little behind time with his reactions and he smashed into the car ahead.

“Now, that is something you saw particularly. You saw the girl’s head snap back under the impact. It went way, way back. You stood and looked for a moment, saw the traffic crawling around the two stalled cars, saw the man get out, saw the girl get out, saw them exchange addresses from their driving licenses, saw the man go and look at the front of his car and assess the damage; there was water trickling from his radiator. Then he got back in his car, the girl got back in her car. You started on walking.”

“Where was I standing?” I asked. “They’ll want to know the exact spot.”

“Come on,” he said. “I’m showing you the exact spot. Sign your name on this statement.”

“How about mailing it?” I asked.

“I’ll attend to all that,” he said. “Come on now, we’ll walk down the street and I’ll show you exactly where you were standing and exactly where the accident took place.

“Then we’ll go to the Perkins Hotel. I’ll get a room with a bath... You got any clothes?”

“No.”

“All right,” he said. “You can get a razor, a toothbrush and what clean clothes you need. You stay in the room.”

“How long?”

“Until I tell you to leave.”

“I can go out to eat and—”

“Oh, hell yes,” he said. “You can go out to eat. You can go out and wander around. You can come and see Doris if you want to, but you keep in touch with the hotel. Every hour or so you check back in to see if there’s been a telephone call for you.”

“And when a telephone call does come?”

“You saw the accident.”

“Who do I tell that to?”

“Anybody that asks.”

“And what do I get out of it?”

“You get immunity for tampering with my car,” Bedford said. “You get your room at the hotel and here’s some expense money.”

He pulled a roll of bills from his pocket and handed me a twenty and a ten. “When you get all done,” he said, “you get a hundred bucks.”

“What about this two hundred and fifty dollars that’s mentioned in the ad?”

“That,” he said, “you don’t get.”

“Who does get it?”

“You don’t. Now let’s quit beating around the bush. I haven’t time to be polite. Do you want to take this or do you want me to pick up that phone, call the cops and tell them I’ve got the man who was tampering with my car yesterday and show them the place in the wires where you scraped the insulation through and jumped the switch?”

“I’ll sign the paper,” I said.

“That’s better,” he told me. “Stick your name on there.”

I signed the paper.

He folded it and put it in his pocket. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll show you where you were standing when you saw the accident.”