The Way the Cookie Crumbles

Chapter Ten

Half out of his mind with fear, Edris drove fast along the highway towards Seacombe. He was so preoccupied with his thoughts for his safety that he failed to notice the dusty Ford that tagged along in his rear.

There wasn’t a moment to lose, he told himself. Already the cops might be looking for him. He too had contacts along the Waterfront. His best bet was to get on a boat for Mexico.

But first, he had to take a chance and return to his apartment. He must get his money from Algir. Without money, he was sunk! He would have to kill Algir. If he didn’t, Algir would kill him. He would also have to find where Algir had hidden his own share of the Wanassee take. But before he could kill Algir, he had to get a gun!

Reaching the outskirts of Seacombe, he swung the little car down a narrow road that led to the sea.

Startled, Jess slammed on his brakes, stopping the Ford. He got out of the car and ran to the top of the road. He was in time to see the Mini turn right at the end of the road and disappear. He ran back to the Ford and drove down the road, cautiously and slowly.

Edris parked the Mini, then ran with bouncing hops over to a shabby bar that catered primarily for the crews of the deep sea fishing yachts, moored in the harbour.

At this hour, the bar was deserted and Harry Morris, the owner, a big, hairy, scowling man was propping up the bar, reading a racing sheet.

He grinned when he saw Edris.

‘Hi, Ticky!’ He folded the racing sheet and stared down at Edris’ white, sweating face. ‘What’s eating you, pal?’

‘I’m in a jam, Harry,’ Edris said, trying to control his uneven breathing. ‘Don’t ask questions. it’s cop trouble. Can you get me on a boat to Mexico?’

Morris’s eyes widened. For a moment he wondered if Edris was kidding, then again looking at the dwarf’s face, he decided he wasn’t.

‘It could be fixed, Ticky, but it’ll cost. There’s a boat sailing at ten tonight. I could fix it for you, set you back three grand.’

Edris winced.

‘Can’t you do better than that, Harry? I’ll need my money.’

‘I’ll do what I can, but this guy is kind of greedy.’

‘I’ve got a little business to handle and then I’ll be back. Can you keep me under the wraps until the boat sails?’

‘Of course, Ticky. For you, I’ll do anything.’

‘Another thing. I want a gun with a silencer, and I want it right now.’

Morris stared at him.

‘What for?’

‘Don’t ask questions, Harry. I want it now.’

‘Well, okay. Sure you don’t want me to handle it for you?’

Edris grinned wolfishly.

‘I can handle it. Snap it up, Harry, I’m running out of time.’

Morris nodded and walked through a doorway at the back of the bar. He returned in a few minutes, carrying a brown paper parcel. This he handed to Edris.

‘It’s clean, Ticky. I don’t want to see it again. The silencer is good for three shots, no more. You sure you know what you’re doing?’

‘I know,’ Edris said grimly. ‘Thanks, Harry. I’ll be back in a couple of hours,’ and he hurried out of the bar and back to the Mini.

Getting into the car, he unwrapped the parcel and examined the .38 automatic. He screwed the silencer into the barrel and put the gun on the seat beside him. He put his hat over the gun. Then he started the car and drove towards his apartment.

Jess Farr, parked further along the waterfront, went after him.

Arriving outside the apartment block, Edris scooped up his hat and the gun and leaving the ignition key in the lock, he got out of the car. He skipped across the sidewalk and bounced up the steps. Entering the lobby, he got into the elevator and was shot up to the floor of his apartment.

As he paused outside the front door to search for his key, he glanced at his watch. The time was 11.43 hours. He unlocked the door and cautiously entered the lobby.

‘Phil?’

He dropped his hat on a chair and holding the gun behind his back and the newspaper he had bought in his left hand, he moved forward into the lounge.

Algir was standing by the window, Edris’ .25 in his hand, his eyes wary, his face tense. He lifted the gun and pointed it at Edris.

‘Did you get it?’ he demanded. ‘Don’t come any closer!’

‘What’s this all about?’ Edris said, cocking his head on one side. Behind his back, his thumb slid off the safety catch on the gun.

‘I don’t trust you, you stinking freak,’ Algir said. ‘Did you get the money?’

‘Of course I got it, and I got a newspaper too. It has a lovely big photo of you, buddy-boy, right on the front page.’ Edris tossed the newspaper towards Algir. The paper unfolded as it fell at Algir’s feet, front page up.

Off guard, Algir looked down, saw the photograph of himself and began to curse. This was the last sound on this earth that he was to make. Edris lifted his gun and shot him through the head.

Algir’s knees crumpled and he began to slide to the floor. Edris, his lips drawn off his teeth, shot him through the chest.

Algir sprawled on the floor, blood running down the side of his face. He moved his hands feebly and his mouth worked, then his eyes rolled back. He shivered and his jaw dropped.

Edris drew in a long, deep breath. He unscrewed the silencer and put it in his pocket. He put the gun on the table. Without looking at Algir, he went into his bedroom for the canvas hold-all he had already packed.

He then set about searching the apartment for Algir’s share of the money. It took him some ten minutes to find it, tucked behind a reproduction of an early Picasso. He counted the money, muttering to himself when he found Algir had only sixteen thousand dollars left of his share of the take.

Edris stuffed the money into his hip pocket. He then put the envelope containing his share in the inside pocket of his jacket. He paused to look around the apartment, feeling a sudden sadness to be leaving it. He looked down at Algir whose head lay in a halo of blood and whose expression of terror made Edris grimace, then he picked up his bag and walked slowly to the front door.

It was hard to believe, he thought, he would never see this home again, but at least he had money and a chance to get to Mexico. He would begin a new life for himself. Money unlocked most doors. Without it you were sunk.

He opened the front door, then stopped abruptly.

Gun in hand, Jess Farr stood in the corridor, facing him. The gun pointed at Edris’ face.

Edris closed his eyes and then opened them. The shock of seeing this lanky beatnik with a gun stopped his heart for a brief moment and then sent it racing madly.

‘Back in!’ Jess said viciously, ‘and watch it!’

Sick despair gripping him, Edris slowly moved back into the living room. Jess followed him and kicked the front door shut. He stiffened at the sight of Algir’s dead body. He had never seen death before. A cold coil of fear gripped his guts.

‘Put the bag down, turn around and get your hands up!’ he snapped.

‘Now listen.’ Edris began, forcing a wheedling smile to his ashen face.

‘Do it pig face!’ Jess yelled at him, threatening him with the gun.

Edris caught his breath in a sob. He dropped the bag, turned and as he began to raise his hands, Jess took a quick step forward and slammed the gun barrel down on his head.

It did Lepski a power of good to watch Terrell’s face as he told his story. Beigler, leaning against the wall, behind Terrell’s desk, was also good to look at.

Lepski couldn’t restrain his grin of triumph as he concluded, ‘And here’s a photograph of Norena Devon, Chief. I got it from her school,’ and with a flourish, he laid the photograph on Terrell’s desk.

Both Terrell and Beigler leaned forward and peered at the group of girls shown in the photograph.

‘She’s the second on the left, back row,’ Lepski said.

‘Nice work, Tom,’ Terrell said after staring at the plain looking girl who wore spectacles. ‘So who’s this girl Devon imagines is his daughter?’

‘Ira Marsh. Muriel’s sister,’ Beigler put in. ‘I’ve just got the New York police report. Ira Marsh left New York on the night of the 16th. She hasn’t been seen since. It jells, Chief.’

‘But why?’ Terrell stared at Beigler, frowning. ‘We’re missing out on something big here. Why did Algir substitute Ira for Norena? He must have had a reason.’

‘She’ll tell us. Let’s pick her up.’

‘We won’t rush it,’ Terrell said. ‘I’ll talk to Devon first.’ He frowned. ‘This dwarf Edris, he must have planted her photo in Muriel’s bedroom. He was the one who sold Algir to Dr. Graham. Get after him, Joe! Get after him fast!’

‘He’s supposed to be in New York,’ Beigler said.

‘Alert the New York police. It may be a bluff. He may still be here. Try his home, Joe.’

Beigler nodded and hurried from the room.

‘Get the airport covered and road blocks set up, Tom,’ Terrell went on. ‘Looking the way he does, he can’t get far, but I’m not taking chances with that little snake.’ He got to his feet and picked up the photograph from his desk.

‘I’ll see Devon.’

Lepski reached for the telephone.

‘If you don’t get promotion for this, old son, old son,’ he said to himself, ‘you’ll never get it.’

Jess rode down in the elevator. He hadn’t waited to count the money he had taken from Edris’ unconscious body, but he knew it was more money than he had expected to find. He must get out of Florida fast, he told himself. He would leave the rented car at Fernandia and take the train to Atlanta. He would stay there until he knew which way the cat was jumping. With all that money, he hadn’t a care in the world.

In spite of his elation he was still shocked by Algir’s death. It was obvious that Edris who he had left sprawled on the floor, unconscious, had murdered him. As he got into the Ford, he wondered what Edris would do and where he would go.

Serve the little freak right! Jess thought as he trod on the starter. This squared it for the way he had treated Ira.

What about Ira? Jess frowned. He was half tempted to try to find her. It would be more fun travelling with her than alone. Then he shook his head. Better not. It wouldn’t be long before the cops got wise to her and then he’d land in real trouble along with her. No, he’d travel alone. There would be time to find a girl when he reached Atlanta.

He drove towards Miami. The midday traffic was heavy and the way out of Seacombe was irritatingly slow.

But Jess confined his impatience. It was a sweet set up, he thought, slowing as the traffic built up to yet another jam. Edris wouldn’t dare squeal. Algir was dead. Ira didn’t know he had the money. It was sweet! Talk about the perfect steal!

The traffic ahead speeded up and Jess changed from second to third. Ahead of him he saw the traffic lights. He wondered if he could beat them. The car ahead of him suddenly surged forward, leaving him behind. Jess couldn’t resist shoving down on the gas pedal. As he did so the lights five yards ahead turned red.

Cursing, he slammed on his brakes and skidded to a standstill, a yard over the line. Then before he could reverse, he was thrown forward with a sickening shock as a car behind him crashed into the back of the Ford.

Jess turned in his seat, snarling with fury. He could see the driver, a fat, elderly man getting out of his car. Then he heard the sound he most dreaded — the sound of a police whistle.

His heart suddenly hammering he snatched the automatic from his hip pocket with the intention of hiding it in the glove compartment when a hard, cop voice bawled, ‘Hold it!’

He looked up. A big red-faced policeman was staring at him through the off-side window. He had come up without Jess seeing him. The cop already had his gun in his hand and he was pointing it at Jess.

‘Put that gun down!’ The cop said, steel in his voice. ‘Quick!’

Half blubbering with fear and rage, Jess let the gun drop on the car seat and he held up his hands. His door jerked open and another cop grabbed him and hauled him into the street. Car horns were sounding.

People were pausing and staring.

‘Watch him,’ the other cop bawled. ‘He’s just ditched a rod!’

The red-faced cop grinned and slapped Jess across the face, sending him staggering. Then he reached out arid before Jess knew what was happening, handcuffs were pinching his wrists.

He felt the packet of money he had stuffed inside his shirt shift and before he could stop it, the money began to spill out onto the road.

‘Hey, what do you know?’ The red-faced cop exclaimed, his eyes opening wide. ‘This punk is bleeding dough!’

Ticky Edris opened his eyes. The pain in his head was so bad he let out a low, whinnying moan. He lay still, trying to remember what had happened, then he remembered.

It took him several long painful minutes to sit up. He held his aching head between his stumpy hands until his head began to clear and the sharp gnawing pain subside.

He pushed himself to his knees and then up onto his feet. He took two staggering steps forward. His left shoe squelched in the drying pool of blood from Algir’s wound and he shuddered, trying to wipe his shoe clean on the carpet. He moved on as if fifty years had been put on his life during the half hour he had been unconscious. He reached the cocktail cabinet, opened it with an unsteady hand and grabbed the bottle of whisky. He took out the cork, letting it drop on the carpet and raised the bottle to his lips. He drank long and steadily, feeling the spirit fan through his body, giving him back warmth and life.

Gasping, he set the bottle down and patted his hip pocket. He knew it was a useless gesture. The money was gone.

He walked unsteadily into the bathroom and bathed his head and face. His mind was too numbed to work. He stood looking at himself in the mirror and he felt his heart shrink at the sight of himself. He looked like a little wizened old man moving to his death. He looked as if he could die in a very few hours.

He turned away and returned to the living room. He picked up the whisky bottle and took another long drink. He belched as he sat down in his miniature armchair and put his feet up on the foot stool.

There would be no boat now to Mexico, he thought.

Without money, Ticky, old buddy-boy, you’re sunk. May as well face it. No good running away. No good making any more plans. You’re in the deep, deep hole and you’ll never get out of it.

He looked over at Algir and his lips came off his teeth in a snarl of hate. Just because that dead lump of nothingness, that flash dumb sonofabitch was too stupid and too lazy to have buried a body deep enough. Just that — only that to foul up the sweetest set up for the Big Take ever dreamed up.

Edris drank a little more whisky. He was drunk now: drunk and sorry for himself. He began to cry, tears flowing down his shrivelled face while he gently beat his stumpy hands together.

Beigler and Hess found him like that, still crying, when they burst into the apartment some twenty-five minutes later.

Ticky Edris went with them without any fuss. What did it matter? he said to himself as he stumped down the steps to the waiting police car. What did anything matter now? You made plans; you played your cards right, then some slob spoils it all.

‘It’s the way the cookie crumbles,’ he said half aloud as he got into the police car, and because he was so very drunk, he put his stumpy hands over his face and began to cry again.

She put down the ballpoint and read the letter through.

She was in the beach cabin and she had on a white bikini that made her skin look more bronze than it was. She was very quiet and unemotional as she put the letter in an envelope and sealed it. She wrote Devon’s name on the envelope and propped it against a flower vase on the table.

She stood up, looked briefly around the room, then walked out into the hot sunshine.

In the far distance, she could see people bathing, but they were too far away to worry her. With long, easy strides, she walked down to the sea, her head held high, her mouth firm, her eyes dry. She walked into the sea and began to swim with powerful strokes that took her swiftly away from the land, and the new way of life that she had found but that wasn’t for her.