The Fatal Frails

CHAPTER V

The ring of the phone in his room caught Johnny on his way to the door. He came back and picked it up. “Yeah?”

“Two to see you down here, John.” The sound of Marty Seiden's brisk voice reminded Johnny that it was Vic's night off. Marty, the red-headed, bow-tied, wisecracking middle-shift front-desk man always took over for Vic Barnes. “Names are Faulkner and Palmer.”

“Send 'em on up.” On impulse he left the room to meet them at the elevator. They got off with their backs to him, Palmer in the lead, and Johnny reached out silently and tapped Ernest Faulkner on the shoulder. The lawyer whirled, mouth agape, dead white.

“Oh-” he said weakly. “Don't-do that-”

Harry Palmer's alert features reflected amusement as he turned to survey the scene. “Try Miltown, Ernest,” he advised. He cocked an eyebrow at Johnny. “Which way?”

“Straight ahead. Six-fifteen.” Johnny trailed them down the hall, removed a key from a clip on the band of his watch and opened the door. “We won't be disturbed here,” he told them.

Harry Palmer scuffed a toe in the dull-hued Oriental rug and gazed around the attractively furnished oversized bed-sitting room. He looked from the three-quarter-sized refrigerator in one corner to the television set to one of Johnny's uniforms laid out on the bed. “This is your place?” he asked sharply. He shook his head gently at Johnny's affirmative nod. “You sure must know where the body is buried around here, man, to rate this kind of accommodations.”

“A man died an' left it to me,” Johnny said. He waved them to chairs as he walked to the refrigerator. “Room an' all. You can have anything you like to drink, boys, if you don't mind it tastin' like bourbon.”

“I was forty years old before I knew they made anything but bourbon,” Harry Palmer grunted. The aggressive-looking little man seemed to be swallowed up in the depths of Johnny's armchair.

“Make mine a short one,” Ernest Faulkner said hastily. “Did you say a man left this to you in his will? I never heard of such a thing.”

“Neither had the hotel lawyers, but it stuck.” Johnny handed them each a drink and poured himself a shot. “If I'd known you were comin', I'd have iced the champagne.”

“Champagne!” Palmer snorted. “Just as soon drink vinegar.” He leaned back in the chair to look up at Johnny. “What kind of a man dies and leaves you with a place like this, Killain?”

“He owned the place. I was able to do him a couple favors one time,” Johnny said evenly. “In Italy.”

“Italy,” Palmer repeated with no change of expression, but Johnny saw that Ernest Faulkner's hand had whitened around his glass. The lawyer opened his mouth as though to speak, and then closed it again as Palmer continued. “That's where you met Dechant?”

“Not head-on. That came later.”

“Later,” Palmer repeated again. He drained half his drink, held the balance up to the light to study it critically, nodded, finished it off and set down his glass. He folded his hands together with his elbows resting on the arms of his chair. “You know what the password is in this game, Killain?”

“I know a password.” Johnny emphasized the indefinite article. “August Hegel.”

“That's the one,” the little man admitted, and looked at Ernest Faulkner.

“There's no way he could have known,” the lawyer said huskily. “Claude told his business to no one. You know that.”

“I know nothing,” Harry Palmer declared flatly. “Especially in the light of what you tell me of the state of his affairs.” He turned to Johnny, briskly assertive. “I don't know where you stand on this thing, Killain, but I know where I stand. Dechant died owing me a lot of money. I thought I was protected, but, if matters continue to shape up as they have to date, I'll wind up with the feathers from the chicken. I wouldn't like that, Killain. It could leave me looking to do business with a smart young fellow.”

“Faulkner's your lawyer, too?” Johnny asked.

Harry Palmer smiled. “Let's say I pay him a retainer.”

The lawyer's too-white face pinked up. He settled his heavy horn-rimmed glasses more firmly on the bridge of his delicate-looking nose. “There's an interrelationship of interests which permits-” he began, and was cut off by the brash little man.

“Stow it, Ernest. Save it for your tear-wet pillow.” He addressed himself to Johnny again. “You don't look like the type to me to split legal hairs, and you can damn well bet your second-best store teeth that I'm not, either. I'm in the process of finding out that Dechant's been playing me for a fool right along. I don't like it. All the importing he did-with my money, the bastard-was just a blind for whatever else he was doing. He never made a quarter on his legitimate operations. He bought and sold over and over again at cost, even at a small loss. Since he lived like a maharajah ever since I've known him, it leaves me wondering where the money came from.”

Palmer grinned at the obviously unhappy Faulkner. “I'm indebted to Ernest for the information as to the lack of financial righteousness in Claude's affairs. Ernest is sweating it out, because as Dechant's lawyer he signed a lot of little pieces of paper he now knows had no basis in fact. Ernest is afraid he's going to wind up as the bagman. I'm afraid I'm not going to get my money.” He shook free a cigarette from the pack he removed from his breast pocket. He offered it to Johnny, who refused. “So what are you afraid of, Killain?”

“That no one'll pay me enough for my trouble.” Johnny lifted his own empty glass. “Refill?”

“No, thanks.” Harry Palmer leaned forward in his chair. “A couple of people approached me recently-at different times, that is-about giving them a hand with the recovery of an object that had been the subject of some mismanagement.” He grinned faintly. “I wasn't interested, until I found out what kind of a jackpot I was in trying to get my money out of Dechant's screwed-up estate. Right now I could be interested as hell, if you're for real. Tremaine told me you were over at his place this afternoon making noises that you knew something. Arends told me that you were over at his place raising general hell. Before he died.” He paused. “That's something I'd like to know a little more about. Jack Arends was a good friend of mine.” He turned to accept the lawyer's proffered light for the cigarette, which had remained unlighted in his mouth during his speech. He puffed hard twice, and with a wave of his hand dismissed Jack Arends as well as the cloud of smoke around his head. “You gave me the password, Killain.” He stared at Johnny keenly. “I want my hands on something that'll give me a lever toward recovering my money. Do you come in that door?”

“If the door's marked Money.”

Harry Palmer removed a folded-over checkbook from an inside jacket pocket, spread it on his knee and wrote swiftly with a fountain pen. He ripped the check from the book and waved it in the air to dry, leaned forward and handed it to Johnny. “It's not signed, Killain. You turn the stuff over to Tremaine. When he tells me it's the right stuff, I'll sign the check.”

Johnny looked down at the unsigned check in his hand for forty thousand dollars. He flicked it between thumb and forefinger so that it sailed back onto Palmer's lap. “You talk like a man without good sense, Palmer. I don't do business with checks, signed or unsigned. I don't do business with Tremaine, if you're the buyer. I do business with you. For cash.”

“Now don't go off half cocked, boy,” the little man warned him. “I never appear in these things personally. And, as for the check, ask around a little. I think you'll find out that when Harry Palmer says he'll do a thing, Harry Palmer delivers the goods.”

“No cash, no deal, Palmer.” Johnny walked back to the refrigerator and refilled his glass. “It's not enough, anyway.” He leveled a finger at the man in the chair. “I've already had a better offer than yours, but I haven't seen the color of any money there yet, either. I'll tell you right now, the first with the gelt gets the stuff.”

“You've been offered more?” The little man's eyes had narrowed. “I don't believe it. There aren't enough people-” He looked around impatiently as Ernest Faulkner leaned over the arm of his chair to tug at his sleeve. The lawyer murmured in an undertone.

Harry Palmer first looked thoughtful, then shrugged and bounced abruptly to his feet. “You think it over, Killain. And don't try to outsmart a man that makes his living at it. Come on, Ernest.” From the door he looked back at Johnny. “Killain. If it stays like this, I go for myself, understood? No hard feelings if your corns get trampled?” He grinned, waved and disappeared.

He'd overplayed that hand a little, Johnny decided as the door closed behind them. Still, he couldn't afford to let himself be cornered. He'd hear from Palmer again.

He finished his drink and rinsed out the glasses in the bathroom. With all these people milling around, where could the thing be? Or, if one of them had it, could it be that he'd be afraid to come to the surface with it for fear the sharks would tear his throat out?

He left the glasses to drain, and returned to the elevator and the lobby.

He looked up from the desk as Sally called to him from the switchboard. He crossed the lobby in his soft-footed shuffle and leaned on the little gate between them as Sally's brown eyes inspected him. “What did those men want, Johnny?”

“Well, it's like this, ma. They want to buy somethin' I don't have. They don't know I haven't got it, so I'll sell it to them.”

“It sounds like one of your deals,” she observed. “What are you actually-” She broke off, nodding over his shoulder. “Are you sure your customers haven't filed a complaint already?”

Johnny turned to see Lieutenant Joseph Dameron advancing across the lobby toward them, with Detective Ted Cuneo half a pace behind. The lieutenant's apple-cheeked ruddiness was void of expression, but Ted Cuneo's popeyed stare glinted with anticipatory malice. Johnny felt that he could hear the storm-warning signal flags snapping in the wind. “You changed shifts, Joe?” he greeted the lieutenant blandly. “Or just quit sleepin'?”

Lieutenant Dameron nodded briefly to Sally before addressing Johnny. “Can we talk upstairs?”

“We can talk right here, Joe.”

“I'd like it better upstairs, Johnny.”

“Sorry. I'm on duty.”

“A hell of a lot that ever bothered you!” Quick anger flared in the official voice.

“Well, I guess I got to level with you,” Johnny said apologetically. “I got a blonde waitin' upstairs for my coffee break. She's allergic to gendarmes.”

The frost in the gray eyes hardened to ice. “I said I'd like-”

“Joe, I don't give a damn what you'd like,” Johnny wedged in. “You want to talk? So talk.”

The lieutenant's smile was wintry. “Strictly in character.” His eyes flickered to Sally again before returning to Johnny. “You went out to see Arends yesterday at Empire Freight Forwarding.”

“Wrong,” Johnny told him.

“Don't tell me it's wrong!” Ted Cuneo broke in. “I checked with-”

“The pair of you'd make stinkin' witnesses,” Johnny inserted cuttingly. “No wonder you average about fifty per cent convictions. I went out to Empire. Arends happened to be there.”

Two pinpoints of red dotted Cuneo's sallow complexion. “Watch your mouth, man,” he said dangerously. “I mean it.”

“You're aware of course, Johnny, that the situation has changed since we had our little talk the other evening.” Lieutenant Dameron's tone was level. “A man has been killed. This is a police operation now. You can't go around rooting up indiscriminate stumps with your nose.”

“Show me,” Johnny invited.

“Show you what?” Cuneo demanded aggressively.

Johnny kept his eyes fixed on the lieutenant. “Show me the chapter an' section of the statute that says I can't.”

“Now look, you-” Cuneo growled from the side of his mouth.

“A pretty good jackleg lawyer told me one time people would be surprised as hell to know how limited police powers really were,” Johnny said softly. He leaned back negligently on his elbows on the wooden gate. “He said it's the extra-legal powers they assume to themselves that get them their mileage. An' in trouble, too, sometimes.”

“I've listened to about enough of this damn-”

Johnny straightened suddenly, a leveled finger cutting off the other man. “Let's just simmer down a minute, Joe. You didn't come over here to talk. You came over here to threaten. Go ahead. I won't hold you up again. I want to see if you've got nerve enough to do it in front of a witness.”

“You think you can talk to the lieutenant like that?” Cuneo asked harshly. “I'll show-”

“Ahh, bag it, big-mouth,” Johnny said wearily. He met Dameron's bleak stare head-on. “This is a police operation,” he mimicked. “What the hell's that give you, the governor's emergency powers?”

“You cock your nose just once in the wrong direction on the street,” Cuneo snarled. “Just once-”

“Attempted police intimidation of a citizen,” Johnny remarked over his shoulder. “Take it down, Sally.”

Lieutenant Joseph Dameron looked at his man and jerked his head slightly. The detective hesitated, then turned and stalked to the other side of the lobby, obviously fuming.

“That's the idea, Joe,” Johnny approved. “Never back down in front of the hired help.”

“I don't care a bit for your attitude,” the lieutenant rasped. “Not that I could have expected anything different.”

“But here you are, wastin' your time.”

“So it would seem. Some people have to learn the hard way. Look, Johnny-”

“Ahh, here it comes,” Johnny interrupted. “Act One, Scene Two. Threats didn't work. Here comes the soft soap.” “Nobody threatened you!” Steel rang in the authoritative voice.

“No? What program you tuned in on, Joe? Well, the hell with it. I'm still waitin' to hear whatever it was you came all the way over here to say.”

“I said it!”

“You did?” Johnny grinned at the anger-reddened face. “In all the snappin' an' snarlin' I must've missed it. You care to repeat it?”

“If you think for one minute I can't enforce-”

“Now just a minute.” Johnny could feel the irritation mounting within himself. “You try enforcin' any unwritten laws around me an' I'll guarantee to sicken somebody.” Anger sharpened his tone. “Just why the hell is it nobody's supposed to say 'no' to you bastards? You make a production of runnin' everyone off the grass on a murder case. If only the police work on it, then there's nobody to make you look bad by havin' an intelligent idea once in a while. If you can't do it any other way, you bull people off. Try it with me. Just try it. So long, Joe.”

Twice the lieutenant opened his mouth to speak, and twice he closed it. Eyes smoldering, he spun on his heel. Cuneo caught up to him at the foyer doors, and they went out together.

“I wish you wouldn't do that, Johnny,” Sally said worriedly from behind him. “He's furious.”

“The hell with him,” Johnny grunted. “Maybe it'll stir up his tired blood a little. They get my cork.” He turned from his morose inspection of the foyer doors to smile in over the wooden gate at anxious brown eyes. “Forget 'em, ma. Small potatoes, an' not very many to the hill.”

“But they can do all kinds of things, Johnny. They can-”

“Forget it, ma,” he said again. “I got Joe right under the gun. The next time he comes back to see me, it'll be with his hat in his hand. You don't believe it?” He looked at his watch. “It's late, but he'll probably still be up. Plug yourself in there an' call the Rosario an' ask for Cardinal Lucian Alerini. Tell whoever you get on there that Killain wants to talk to him.” He grinned at Sally's stare. “I'm not kiddin', ma. Go ahead an' call.”

He waited while Sally looked up the number and put the call through. She had to repeat her little speech to four different people in the cardinal's entourage before she finally nodded for Johnny to pick up the house phone. He whistled the first eight bars of Edelweiss into it. “Kiki? Your phone on a switchboard?”

“This hotel phone is, Johnny, but I also have a direct line.”

“Call me here at the Duarte. I'm standin' beside my switchboard.” He hung up, waited for Sally's nod and picked up the receiver again. “You could do me a favor, Kiki. Like callin' up the highest police official you know and expressin' unofficial thanks for the help Dameron's givin' you on a delicate private matter.”

“I see,” the cardinal's resonant voice said after a thoughtful pause. “Yes, I think I do see. Consider it done. Do you feel you're making any progress?”

“I've met half a dozen of Dechant's closest associates. They think I've got somethin' to sell. A couple at least are real anxious to buy. When I run onto someone in the crowd that's peddlin' instead of buyin', I figure I'll have somethin'.”

“I see,” the cardinal said again. “I wish you luck.”

“I think we'll break it down. It's kind of a tight little circle, with nobody much likin' anyone else. It leaves room for angle-playin'. Kiki, how big is this thing I'm lookin' for?”

“About eighteen inches by fifteen inches. It weighs nearly thirty pounds. The bulk of the weight is made up of gold and jewels.” The cardinal's tone was dry.

“Thirty pounds,” Johnny mused. “Nobody's walkin' around with it in their hip pocket, anyway. Okay. I'll be callin' you.”

“The other I'll do right now. Thanks for calling, Johnny.”

Johnny replaced the phone slowly, lost in thought. He looked up finally to find Sally's eyes upon him. “See how easy it is, ma? When Kiki makes his call, the police official will call Dameron to give him a pat on the head for renderin' such outstandin' service to a distinguished foreign visitor. With a line-up like that against him, you think Dameron's gonna pull many spokes outa my wheel? He'll know where it came from.” He grinned, and stretched lazily. “I'd give a dollar to watch his mug when he gets the call.”

“That was a cardinal you were talking to? In language like that?” Sally looked horrified.

“It's the only language I know, ma. An' he's a right guy. He an' I were goin' up a cliff on a rope one night a few years back. He was on the rope when it was cut, an' he went to the bottom. I was on a ledge, an' it took me a while to get down to him. I packed him outta there, although for quite a while I wasn't sure it was gonna do any good. He's tough, though. He made it. The next night I went back an' made it to the top. I found the guys that cut the rope. I never told him that.” He roused himself from relived memories, and looked at his watch. “I'll let Marty go on his relief now, I guess. You call Paul to relieve you when you're ready, ma.” He pushed through the wooden gate and squeezed himself along the narrow passageway between the mail racks and the cashier's wicket. Sally's eyes followed him until the angle of the registration desk hid him from sight.

The appearance of Ernest Faulkner's law office was not what he would have expected, Johnny decided. In contrast to the up-to-the-minute cut of the lawyer's two-hundred-dollar suits, the waiting room furniture in the musty office was so soundly and solidly old-fashioned that it looked as though it would still be there when the building itself was gone.

Johnny spoke up when he wearied of the gray-haired, quince-mouthed dragon in shirtwaist and skirt not deigning to notice him. He knew she'd heard him come in. “The name's Killain. I'd like to see Faulkner.”

She looked up from her desk and raised gold pince-nez glasses on a gold chain. From behind them gimlet eyes swept him from head to foot. “Your business?”

“Private,” he said shortly.

Down came the corners of the thin mouth. “I shall have to have some knowledge of the nature of your business, sir.”

Johnny stared at her. “Yeah? Who died an' left yon boss?” He pushed past her desk to the door behind her. She had risen at his first movement; for a second he thought she meant to step in front of him, but if that had been her intention she thought better of it. She was right on his heels when he knocked on the inner door and entered. Ernest Faulkner looked over his shoulder at them from where he stood beside a window, his hands jammed idly in his pockets. “Hi, Ernest,” Johnny greeted him. “You make all your customers run this barrage?”

“Oh, it's you.” The sensitive-featured lawyer nodded to the woman behind Johnny. “It's all right, Miss McPartland. I'm acquainted with Mr. Killain. He has an impetuous nature.”

“He's no gentleman!” Miss McPartland snapped, but backed reluctantly to the door. It banged shut behind her.

“You sure she hasn't got the room bugged?” Johnny asked. “What you got to do to get 'em to take that kind of an interest in their work?”

The corners of Ernest Faulkner's mouth moved nervously. “I inherited Miss McPartland from my father,” he explained, and with a wave of his hand indicated the massive iron safe and dull-backed, book-lined walls. “Along with these less trying legacies.” He seated himself behind his desk and waved Johnny to a chair alongside. He removed his heavy horn-rimmed glasses and began to polish them carefully. “Sit down. May I be of assistance?”

“It depends,” Johnny told him. He sat down. The sound of the lawyer's high-pitched voice lingered in his ears. Without the heavy glasses to strengthen it, the face was almost feminine in its delicacy. A soft bloom emanating from the skin added to the illusion. And there was something about the slightly stilted walk and the quick movements of the slim hands-this boy could have a little trouble, Johnny decided. Latent, if not overt. Still, the scorecards said he was getting to bat regularly against Gloria Philips. No indication of a hormone deficiency there. “You rate yourself near the top in the lawyerin' business, Ernest?”

A ghost of a smile hovered on the soft-looking mouth. “Am I being offered your business?”

“I thought maybe I should talk to you first before I went up against Palmer again.”

“Considerate of you.” Ernest Faulkner replaced his glasses, leaned back in his chair and studied Johnny. “You'd be surprised at the number of people who don't feel they should talk to me first.”

A sense of humor, Johnny thought. Likewise more bitterness than you'd expect. There was more to Faulkner than met the eye. “I've been takin' a few soundin's of the ice, Ernest, since someone in the crowd took on himself to scratch Arends from the entries.”

“If it's the thickness of the piece you're on that concerns you, I don't blame you.” The lawyer settled the glasses firmly on the bridge of his nose. “Although you didn't strike me as the nervous type.”

“It's bad for business, havin' potential customers bothered like that,” Johnny explained, dead-pan. “It's liable to hustle me along a little faster'n I like to go. What's my chances of gettin' paid if I go back to Palmer ready to do business?”

“Mr. Palmer is a reputable businessman,” the lawyer said smoothly. “For value received-”

“The worst kind of thief,” Johnny interrupted impatiently, “does it legally. I'll make you a proposition. You handle the money end of it for me, an' I'll make a deal with Palmer. I got to be sure I get paid.”

Ernest Faulkner stared at him. “Are you serious, Mr. Killain? Do you for one moment imagine that any lawyer can afford to represent you?”

“I thought I came to the right man,” Johnny said mildly. “You're Dechant's lawyer. You're Palmer's lawyer. You're the Winters woman's lawyer. You get to see the wheels go round. You know Dechant was a thief all his life. You know he an' the Winters woman killed her husband. You know Palmer's playin' footsie with the blonde just like Arends was. You know Tremaine's-”

“Just a minute!” Ernest Faulkner appeared to have trouble with his breathing. He looked horrified. “How can you expect me to sit here and listen to these-these gross insinuations! These monstrous-”

“Insinuations, hell! Act your age, Ernest.”

“Let's not be under any misapprehension,” the lawyer said hurriedly. “I was Claude's attorney, it's true. But I'm not Palmer's, and except in the most highly specialized context I'm not Madeleine's, either.”

“Palmer said he paid you a retainer,” Johnny pointed out. “An' when we found Arends in Madeleine's place the other night, who did she call? You.”

“It was the equivalent of calling a friend,” Faulkner protested. He worried his lower lip with his teeth. “She called me because of my knowledge of certain circumstances.”

“It's your knowledge of certain circumstances I'm tryin' to line up on my side,” Johnny told him. “What's the price?”

“You've heard of ethics, Mr. Killain? Legal ethics?”

“Nobody doin' business with these people has ethics,” Johnny said positively. “What're they payin' you?”

“I think that you had better leave now. Immediately.”

Johnny shook his head at the attempted dignity in the shaken voice. “You know I'm gonna do business with someone, Ernest. Why not with you?” He studied the moist-looking face across the desk. “Use your phone?” he asked abruptly, and without waiting for permission pulled it toward him. He picked up the metal tel-e-list from in front of Faulkner and thumbed the indicator down to the W's. A touch sprang it open.

“Here! What do you think you're doing?” The lawyer came halfway up out of his chair and then sank back into it.

“Callin' a mutual acquaintance,” Johnny said, dialing the number listed for Madeleine Winters. Across from him Faulkner removed a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at the faint sheen visible on his white forehead. “I noticed the other night she had a phone in the living room and another in the bedroom. This the unlisted number?” He shook his head in mock regret at the lack of response from the man behind the desk.

“Harry, darling?” the phone cooed in Johnny's ear.

“You tryin' to make me jealous? This is Killain, from the Duarte.”

“How did you get this number, Killain?” Her tone had hardened up like wet leather in the desert sun, he thought admiringly. This woman really had a cutting edge.

“You know anything that's not for sale if the price is right?” he asked her. “Let's get to somethin' important. I want to see you. How about your place tonight? Around nine?” He could almost hear the gears going around beneath the ash-blonde hair.

“Tonight?” she began doubtfully, and then her voice firmed up. “All right. I'll arrange it.”

“Fine. I'll be there.” Johnny nodded casually to a whey-faced Ernest Faulkner as he replaced the phone.

“Are you trying to get me in trouble?” the lawyer croaked.

“Nothin' like that, Ernest,” Johnny soothed him. He moved the indicator on the tel-e-list again, opened it at the P's, and pointed out Palmer's number to the wide-eyed lawyer. “Don't forget to call Harry. You know how he likes to keep posted.”

On his way through the waiting room Johnny bowed gravely to a ramrod-straight Miss McPartland, who looked right through him.