Black Mask (Vol. 15, No. 2 — April, 1932)

Gerry Kells from the East, who pulled a “fast one” in West Coast gambling, skirts the edges of the political racket and sits in when the blow-off comes.

1

At one-thirty, Kells got out of a cab and went into the Sixth Street entrance of the Howard Hotel. In the elevator he said: “Four.” Around two turns, down a short corridor, he knocked at a heavy old-fashioned door.

A voice yelled: “Come in.”

There were three men in the small room. One sat at a typewriter near the window. He had a leathery good-natured face, and he spoke evenly into the telephone beside him: “Sure... Sure... ”

The other two were playing cooncan on a suit-box balanced on their laps. One of them put down his hand, put the suit-box on the floor, stood up.

Kells said: “Fenner.”

The man at the telephone put one hand over the mouthpiece, turned his head to call through an open door behind him: “A gent to see you, L.D.”

The man who had stood up, walked to the door and nodded at someone in the next room and turned to Kells. “In here.”

Kells went past him into the room and closed the door behind him. That room was larger. Fenner, a slight, silver-haired man of about fifty, was lying on a bed in his trousers and undershirt. There was an electric-light on the wall behind the bed. Fenner put down the paper he had been reading and swung up to sit facing Kells. He said: “Sit down,” and picked up his shoes and put them on. Then he went over and raised the blind on one of the windows that looked out on Spring Street. He said: “Well, Mister Kells, is it hot enough for you?”

Kells nodded, said sarcastically: “You’re harder to see than De Mille. I called your hotel and they made me get a Congressional O. K. and make out a couple dozen affidavits before they gave me this number.” He jerked his head towards the little room through which he had entered. “What’s it all about L.D.?”

Fenner sat down in a big chair and smiled sleepily. He took a crumpled package of Home Runs out of his pocket, extracted a cigarette and lighted it. “About a year ago,” he said, “a man named Dickinson — a newspaperman — came out here with a bright idea and a little capital, and started a scandal-sheet called The Coaster.”

Fenner inhaled his cigarette deeply, blew a soft gray cone of smoke towards the ceiling. “He ran it into the ground on the blackmail side and got into a couple libel jams... ”

Kells said: “I remember... ”

Fenner went on: “I got postponements on the libel cases and I got the injunction raised. Now it’s the Coast Guardian; A Political Weekly for Thinking People. Dickinson is still the editor and publisher, and” — he smiled thinly — “I’m the silent partner. The first number comes out next week, no sale, we give it away.”

Kells said: “The city campaign ought to start rolling along about next week... ”

Fenner slapped his knee in mock surprise. “By George! That’s a coincidence.” He sat grinning contentedly at Kells. Then his face hardened a little and a faint fanatical twinkle came into his eyes. He spoke, and it was as if he had said the same thing many times before. “I’m a working boss, Mister Kells. I gave this city the squarest deal it ever had. They beat my men at the polls last time, but by—! they didn’t beat me — and next election day I’m going to take the city back” — he paused, and then very pointedly made the pun — “like. Bow took Richman.”

Kells said: “I doubt it.” He smiled a little to take the edge off his words, went on: “What did you get from Perry?”

“Nothing.” Fenner yawned. “I got to his wife right after you called and gave her your message and arranged for her bail. She’s witness number one for the State. It took me a little longer to beat the incommunicado on Perry, and when I saw him and told him she had confessed that he killed Haardt, he closed up like a clam.”

Kells took off his hat and rubbed his scalp violently with his fingers. “It must have taken a lot of pressure to make a yellow — like him pipe down.”

Fenner said: “Who killed Haardt?”

“Perry’ll do for a while, won’t he?” Kells put his hat on.

“Are you sure you’re in the clear?”

“Yes.” Kells stood up. “You’ve got enough to work on. Lieutenant Reilly, who was your best in on the force, is in a play with Jack Rose to take over the town and open it up over your head. Dave Perry was in on it. They want it all, and they figure that you and I and a few more of the boys are in their way.”

He walked over to the window and looked down at the swarming traffic on Spring Street. “Doc Haardt was in their way — figure it out for yourself.”

Fenner said: “You act like you know what you’re talking about.”

“I do.”

Fenner went on musingly: “One of the advantages of a reform administration is that you can blame it for everything. Maybe opening up the town for a few weeks isn’t such a bad idea.”

“But it’s nice to know about it when you’re supposed to be the boss... ” Kells smiled. “And it won’t be so hot when it gets so wide open that a few of Reilly and Rose’s imports from the East come up here and shove a machine-gun down your throat.”

Fenner said: “No.”

“Me, I’m going to scram,” Kells went on. “I came out here to play, and by the — if I can’t play here I’ll go back to Broadway. My fighting days are over.”

Fenner stared quizzically at Kell’s battered face, smiled. “You’d better stick around,” he said — “I like you.”

“That’s fine.” Kells went to a table and poured himself a glass of water from a big decanter. “No, I’m going down to the station and see if they want to ask any questions, and then I’m going home and pack. I’ve got reservations on the Chief: six o’clock.”

Fenner stood up. “That’s too bad,” he said. “I have a hunch that you and I would be a big help to one another.”

He held out his hand, Kells shook it, turned and went to the door. Then he turned again, slowly. “One other thing,” he said. “There’s a gal out here — name’s Granquist — came out with a couple of Rose’s boys — claims to have a million dollars’ worth of lowdown on the administration. I can’t use it. Maybe you can get together.”

Fenner said: “Fine. How much does she want?”

Kells hesitated a bare moment. “Fifteen grand.”

Fenner whistled. “It must be good,” he said. “Send her out to my hotel. Send her out tonight — I’ll throw a party for her.”

“She’ll go for that. She’s Scotch-screwy.” Kells grinned and went out the door and closed it behind him.

He went into the Police Station, into the reporters’ room to the right of the entrance. Shep Beery looked up over his paper and said: “My—! What happened to your face?”

They were alone in the room. Kells looked with interest at the smudged pencil drawings on the walls. He sat down. “I got it caught in a revolving-door,” he said. “Does anyone around here want to talk to me?”

“I do, for one.” Beery put the paper down and leaned across his desk. “What’s the inside on all this, Gerry?”

“All what?”

Beery spread the paper, pointed to headlines: Perry Indicted for Haardt Murder; Wife Confesses. Beery’s finger moved across the page: Gambling Barge Burns; 200 Narrowly Escape Death When Joanna D. Sinks.

Kells laughed. “Probably just newspaper stories,” he said.

“No fooling, Gerry, give me a lead.” Beery was intensely serious.

Kells said: “You or your sheet?”

“That’s up to you.”

Kells trailed a long white finger over his discolored right eye. “If you read your paper a little more carefully,” he said, “you’ll find where an unidentified man was found dead near a wharf at San Pedro.” He put his elbows on the desk, leaned close to Beery. “That’s Nemo Kastner of Kansas City. He shot Doc Haardt on Jack Rose’s order and helped frame it for me. He was shot by O’Donnell, his running-mate, when they had an argument over the cut for Haardt’s kill. He set fire to the ship... ”

“... And swam four miles with a lungful of lead.” Beery had been thumbing through the paper; pointed to the item.

“Uh huh.”

“Who shot O’Donnell?”

Kells said: “—! you’re curious. Maybe it was Rose... Is he going to live?”

“Sure.”

“That’s swell.” Kells took a deep breath.

“Now that’s for you,” he said. “Perry will have to take the fall for Doc’s murder for the time being. He was in on it plenty, anyway. Kastner’s dead and I couldn’t prove any of it without getting myself jammed up again. If anything happens to me you can use your own judgment, but until something happens this is all under your hat. Right?”

Beery nodded.

Kells stood up, said: “Now let’s go upstairs and see if the captain can think of any hard ones.”

They went out of the room into the corridor, upstairs.

The captain was a huge watery-eyed Swede with a bulbous, thread-veined nose.

Beery said: “This is Kells... He thought you might want to talk to him.”

The captain shook his head slowly. He looked out the window and took a great square of linen out of his pocket and blew his nose. “No — I don’t think so,” he said slowly. “Cullen and the cab-driver say you was at Cullen’s house yesterday afternoon when Haardt was shot.”

He looked up at Kells and his big mouth slit across his face to show yellow uneven teeth. “Was you?”

Kells smiled faintly, nodded.

“That’s good enough for me.” He blew his nose again, noisily, folded the handkerchief carefully and put it in his pocket. “Perry’s the only one to say you killed Doc. Lieutenant Reilly thinks you did, but we can’t run this department on thinks... I think Perry’s guilty as hell.”

They all nodded sagely.

Kells said: “So long, Captain.” He and Beery started out of the room.

The captain spoke again as Kells went through the door.

“Where was you last night?”

Kells turned. “I was drunk,” he said, “I don’t remember.” His eyes glittered with amusement.

The big man looked at him and his face wrinkled slowly to a grin. “Me too,” he said. He slapped his thigh, and laughed — a terrific crashing guffaw.

His laughter followed Kells and Beery down the stairs, through the corridor, echoing and reechoing.

Beery said: “See you in church, Gerry.”

Kells went out into the sunlight. He walked down First to Broadway, up Broadway to his bank.

The teller told him he had a balance of five thousand, one hundred and thirty dollars. He asked that the account be transferred to a New York bank, then changed his mind.

“I’ll take it in cash.”

The teller gave him five thousand-dollar notes, a hundred, a twenty and a ten-dollar bill. Kells took a sheaf of twenty-four new hundred-dollar bills out of his pocket and exchanged twenty of them for two more thousand-dollar notes. He folded the seven thousand-dollar notes and put them in a black pin-seal cardcase, put the case in his inside breast pocket. He put the five hundreds and the smaller bills in his trouser pocket and went out and got into a cab.

He said, “Lancaster Hotel,” and looked at his watch. It was two-forty: he had three hours and twenty-minutes to get home and pack and make the Chief.

2

“Gerry.” Granquist called to him as he crossed the lobby.

He waited until she had crossed to him, smiled ingenuously. “Gerry in the hay, baby,” he said very gently. “Mister Kells in public.”

She laughed softly — a metallic softness.

Kells said: “Did you get my note?”

“Uh huh.” She spoke rapidly, huskily. “I woke up right after you left, I guess. Your phone’s been raising bloody hell. I’m going home and get some sleep... ”

She held out a closed black-gloved hand, and Kells took his key.

He said: “Come on back upstairs — I’ve found a swell spot for your stuff.”

“Oh... yeah?” Her face brightened.

They went to the elevator and up to Kells’ room. Granquist sat in a low steel-gray leather chair with her back to the windows, and Kells walked up and down.

“L. D. Fenner has been the boss of this town for about six years,” he said. “The reform element moved in last election, but Fenner’s kept things pretty well under control — he has beautiful connections all the way to Washington... ”

Kells paused while Granquist took out tobacco and papers, started to roll a cigarette.

“You wanted to sell your stuff to Rainey for five grand,” he went on. “If it’s as good as you think it is, we can get fifteen from Fenner... That’s ten for you and five for me” — he smiled a little — “as your agent... ”

Granquist said: “I was drunk when I talked to Rainey. Fifteen’s chickenfeed. If you want to help me handle this the way it should be handled, we can get fifty.”

“You have big ideas, baby. Let’s keep this practical.”

Granquist lighted her cigarette. She said: “How would you like to buy me a drink?”

Kells went into the dressing-room and took two bottles of whiskey out of a drawer. He tore off the tissue-paper wrappings and went back into the room and put them on a table.

“One for you and one for me,” he said. He took a corkscrew out of his pocket.

The phone buzzed.

Kells went to the phone, and Granquist got up and took off her gloves and began opening the bottles.

Kells said: “Hello... Yes — fine, Stella... Who?... Not Kuhn, Stella — maybe it’s Cullen... Yeah... Put him on... ” He waited a moment, said: “Hello, Willie... Sure... ” He laughed quietly. “No, your car’s all right... I’ll send one of the boys in the garage out with it, or bring it out myself if I have time... I’m taking a powder... The Chief: six o’clock... Uh huh, they’re too tough out here for me. I’m going back to Times Square where it’s quiet... Okey Willie. Thanks, luck — all that sort of thing... G’bye.”

He hung up, went to the table and picked up one of the opened bottles. He said: “Do you want a glass or a funnel?”

Granquist took the other bottle and sat down. She jerked her head towards the phone. “Was that on the square — you’re going?”

“Certainly.”

“You’re a sap.” She tilted the bottle to her mouth, gurgled.

Kells went to a little table against one wall, took two glasses from a tray and went back and put them on the center table. He poured one of them half full. “No, darling — I’m a very bright fellah.” He drank. “I’m going to get myself a lot of air while I can. The combination’s too strong. I’m not ambitious... ”

“You’re a sap.”

Kells went to a closet and took out two traveling bags, a large suit-case. He took the drawers out of a small wardrobe-trunk, put them on chairs.

“You’d run out on a chance to split fifty grand?” Granquist was elaborately incredulous.

Kells started taking things out of closets, putting them in the trunk. “Your information is worth more to Fenner than anyone else,” he said. “If it’s worth that much, he’ll probably pay it. You can send me mine... ”

“No, — damn it! You stay here and help me swing this or you don’t get a nickel.”

Kells stopped packing, turned wide eyes towards Granquist. “Listen, baby,” he said slowly, “I’ve got a nickel. I’m getting along swell legitimately. You take your bottle and your extortion racket and scram... ”

Granquist laughed. She got up and went to Kells and put her arms around his body. She didn’t say anything, just looked at him and laughed.

The wide wild look went out of his eyes slowly. He smiled. He said: “What makes you think it’s worth that much?”

Then he put her arms away gently and went to the table and poured two drinks.

At six o’clock the Chief pulled out of the Santa Fe Station for Chicago. At about six-forty Kells dropped Granquist at her apartment house on the comer of Wilcox and Yucca.

“Meet you in an hour at the Derby.”

She said: “Oke — adios.”

Kells drove up Wilcox to Cahuenga, up Cahuenga to Iris, turned up the short curving slope to Cullen’s house. The garage doors were open, he drove the car in and then went up and rang the bell. No one answered. He went back down and closed the garage doors and walked down to Cahuenga, down Cahuenga to Franklin.

He stood on the corner for a little while and then went into a delicatessen and called a Hempstead number. The line was busy, he waited a few minutes, called again.

He said: “Hello — the Mrs. Perry? Swell... Listen — I’m going to be very busy tonight — I’ve got about a half-hour... You come out and walk up to Las Palmas, and if you’re sure you’re not tailed come up Las Palmas to Franklin... If you’re not absolutely sure take a walk or something... I’ll give you a ring late... Yeah... ”

He went out and walked over Franklin to Las Palmas. He walked back and forth between Las Palmas and Highland for ten minutes and then walked down the west side of Las Palmas to Hollywood Boulevard. He didn’t see anything of Ruth Perry.

He went on down Las Palmas to Sunset, east to Vine and up Vine to the Brown Derby.

Granquist was in a booth, far back, on the left.

She said: “I ordered oysters.”

Kells sat down. “That’s fine.” He nodded to an acquaintance at a nearby table.

“A couple minutes after you left me,” she said, “a guy came into my place and asked the girl at the desk who I was. She said: ‘Who wants to know?’ and he said he had seen me come in and thought I was an old friend of his... ”

“And... ”

“And I haven’t got any old friends.”

“Wha’d he look like?” Kells was reading the menu.

“The girl isn’t very bright. All she could remember was that he had on a gray suit and a gray cap.”

Kells said: “That’s a pipe — it was one of the Barrymores.”

“No.” Granquist shook her head very seriously. “It might have been a copper who tailed us from your hotel, or it might have been one of... ”

Kells interrupted her suddenly. “Did you leave the stuff in your apartment?”

“Certainly not.”

Kells said: “Anyway — we’ve got to do whatever’s to be done with it tonight. I’m getting the noon train tomorrow.”

“We’re getting the noon train.”

Kells smiled, looked at her for a little while. He said: “When you can watch a lady eat oysters, and still think she’s swell — that’s love.”

He ordered the rest of the dinner.

Granquist carried a smart black bag. She opened it and took out a big silver flask, poured drinks under the table. “Just to keep our wheels turning,” she said.

The dinner was very good. After a while, Granquist asked with exaggerated seriousness: “Have I told you the story of my life?”

“No — but I’ve heard one.” Kells was drinking his coffee, watching the door.

“All right. You tell me.”

Kells said: “I was born of rich but honest parents... ”

“You can skip that.”

He grinned at her. “I came back from France,” he said, “with a lot of sharp-shooting medals, a beautiful case of shell-shock and a morphine habit you could hang your hat on.”

He gestured with his hands, said: “All gone.”

“Even the medals?”

He nodded. “The State kept them as souvenirs of my first trial.”

Granquist poured two drinks.

“I happened to be too close to a couple front-page kills,” Kells went on. “There was a lot of dumb sleuthing and a lot of dumb talk. It got so, finally, when the New York police couldn’t figure a shooting any other way, I was it.”

Granquist was silent, smiling.

“They got tired trying to hang them on me after the first three, but the whisper went on. It got to be known as the Kells Inside... ”

“And at heart you’re just a big sympathetic boy who wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“Uh huh.” He nodded his head slowly, emphatically. His face was expressionless.

Granquist said: “Me... I’m Napoleon.”

Kells beckoned a waiter, paid the check. “And beyond the Alps lies Italy,” he said. “Let’s go.”

It was raining a little.

Kells held Granquist close to him. “The Manhattan is just around the corner on Ivar,” he said, “but I’m going to put you in a cab and I want you to go down to Western Avenue and get out and walk until you’re sure you’re not being followed. Then get another cab and come to the Manhattan. I’ll be in ten-sixteen.”

The doorman held a big umbrella for them and they walked across the wet sidewalk and Granquist got into a cab. Kells stood in the thin rain until the cab had turned the corner down Hollywood Boulevard, then he went back into the restaurant.

Ruth Perry was sitting in the corner booth behind the cashier’s desk. She didn’t say anything.

Kells sat down. There was a newspaper on the table and he turned it around, glanced at the headlines.

He said: “What do you think about the Chinese situation?”

“Who was that?” Ruth Perry inclined her head slightly towards the door.

Kells put his elbows on the table and rubbed his eyes with his fingers. “None of your business, darling,” he said. He looked up at her and smiled. “Now keep your pants on. I stand to make a ten or fifteen thousand dollar lick tonight, and that one—” he gestured with his head towards the door — “is a very important part of the play.”

Ruth Perry didn’t say anything. She leaned back and looked at the ceiling and laughed a little bit.

Presently she said: “What are you going to do about Dave?”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Pm not going to go on that stand and lay myself open to a perjury rap.”

Kells shook his head. “You won’t have to, baby. The trial won’t come up for a month or so and we can spring Dave before that” — he smiled with his mouth — “if you want to.”

They were silent a little while.

Then Kells said: “I’ve got to go now — call you around twelve.”

3

He got up and went out into the rain. He walked up to the corner of Vine and Hollywood Boulevard and went into the drugstore and bought some aspirin. He took two five-grain tablets and then went out and crossed the Boulevard and walked up Vine Street about a hundred yards. Then he crossed the street and walked back down to the parking-station next to the Post Office. He stood on the sidewalk watching people across the street for a little while, then he went swiftly back through the parking-station and down the ramp into the garage under the Manhattan Hotel.

He got out of the elevator on the tenth floor and knocked at the door of ten-sixteen. Fenner opened the door.

Fenner said: “Well, Mister Kells — you didn’t catch your train.” He smiled and bowed Kells in.

They sat in the big living-room and Fenner poured drinks. He poured three drinks and leaned back and said: “Where’s the little lady?”

“She’ll be up in a few minutes.”

Someone came out of the bathroom and through the bedroom. Fenner got up and introduced a dark medium-sized man that came in. “This is Mister Jeffers — God’s gift to Womanhood... Mister Kells.”

Kells stood up and shook hands with Jeffers. He was a motion-picture star who had had a brief and spectacular career; had been on the way out for nearly a year. He was drunk. He said: “It is a great pleasure to meet a real gunman, Mister Kells.”

Kells glanced at Fenner and Fenner shook his head slightly, smiled apologetically. Kells sat down and sipped his whiskey.

Jeffers said: “I’m going up and get Lola.” He took up his glass and went unsteadily out of the room, through the small hallway, out the outer door.

“You mustn’t mind Jeffers.”

Kells said: “Sure.” Then he leaned back in his chair and stared vacantly at Fenner. “Have you got twenty-five grand in cash?”

Fenner looked at him very intently. Then he smiled slowly and shook his head. “No,” he said. “Why?”

“Can you get it — tonight?”

“Well — possibly. I... ”

Kells interrupted him, spoke rapidly. “I’ve talked to the lady. She’s got enough on Bellmann to run him out of politics — out of the state, by—!

You’re getting first crack at it because I have a hunch he isn’t sitting so pretty financially. It’s the keys to the city for you — it’s in black and white — and it’s a bargain.”

“You seem to have a more than casual interest in this... ”

Kells nodded. “Uh huh,” he said, smiled. “I’m the fiscal agent.”

Fenner stood up and walked up and down the room, his hands clasped behind him, a lecture platform expression on his face.

“You forget, Mister Kells, that the Common People — the voters — are not fully informed of Bellmann’s connections, his power in the present administration... ”

“That’s what your Coast Guardian’s for.”

Fenner stopped in front of Kells. “Just what form does this, uh — incriminating information take?”

Kells shook his head slowly. “You’ll have to take my word for that,” he said. He leaned forward and put his empty glass on the table.

The door-bell rang. Fenner went out into the hall, followed Granquist back into the room. Kells got up and introduced her to Fenner, and Fenner took her coat into the bedroom and then came back and poured drinks for all of them.

“Mister Kells has raised the ante to twenty-five thousand,” he said. He smiled boyishly at Granquist.

She took her drink and sat down. She raised the glass to her mouth. “Hey hey.”

They all drank.

Granquist took a sack of Durham, papers out of her bag, rolled a cigarette.

Fenner said: “Of course I can’t enter into a proposition involving so much money without knowing definitely what I’m getting.”

“You put twenty-five thousand dollars in cash on the line and you get enough to put the election on ice.” Kells got up and went over to one of the windows. He turned and went on very earnestly: “And it’s a hell of a long ways from that now.”

Fenner pursed his lips, smiled a little. “Well... now... ?”

“And it’s got to be done tonight.”

Granquist got up and put her empty glass on the table.

Fenner said: “Help yourself, help yourself.”

She filled the two glasses on the table with whiskey and ice and White Rock. She said: “Do you let strangers use your bathroom?”

Fenner took her through the hallway to the bedroom and turned on the light in the bath. He came back and sat down and picked up the telephone, asked for Mister Dillon. When the connection was made, he said: “I want you to bring up the yellow, sealed envelope that’s in the safe... Yes, please — and bring it yourself.” He hung up and turned to Kells. “All right,” he said: “I’ll play with you.”

Kells sat down and crossed his legs. He studied the glistening toe of his left shoe, said: “It’s going to sound like a fairy tale.” He looked up at Fenner. “Bellmann’s a very smart guy. If he wasn’t, he wouldn’t be where he is.”

Fenner nodded impatiently.

Kells said: “The smarter they are, the sappier the frame they’ll go for. Bellmann spent week-end before last at Jack Rose’s cabin at Big Bear.” He leaned forward and took his glass from the table. “Rose has been trying to get a feeler to him for a long time, has tried to reach him through his own friends. A few weeks ago Rose took a big place on the lake, not far from Bellmann’s, invited Hugg and MacAlmon — Mac is very close to Bellmann — up for the fishing, or what have you? They all dropped in on Bellmann in a spirit of neighborliness, and he decided that he’d been wrong about Rose all these years. Next day he returned the call. When Hugg and Mac came back to the city, they left Rose and Bellmann like that” — he held up two slim fingers pressed close together.

Granquist came in, sat down.

Kells turned his head in her direction. Without letting his eyes focus directly on her, he said: “That’s where the baby comes in.”

Fenner lighted a cigarette, coughed out smoke.

“She came out with friends of Rose from K. C.” Kells went on. “Bellmann met her at Rose’s and took her big. That was Rose’s cue. He threw a party — one of those intimate, quiet little affairs — Rose and a show-girl, Bellmann and—” he smiled faintly at Granquist — “this one. They all got stiff — I don’t mean drunk, I mean stiff. And what do you suppose happened?”

Kells paused, grinned happily at Fenner. “Miss Granquist had her little camera along, took a lot of snapshots.” He turned his grin towards Granquist. “Miss Dipsomania Granquist stayed sober enough to snap her little camera.”

Fenner got up and took Granquist’s empty glass, filled it. He looked very serious.

Kells went on: “Of course it all came back to Rose in the morning. He asked about the pictures and she gave him a couple rolls of film that she’d stuck into the camera during the night, clicked with the lens shut, blanks. She discovered that the lens wasn’t open when she gave them to him, they had one of those morning after laughs about it. Bellmann had a dark green hang-over; he didn’t even remember about the pictures until a day or so later, and then he wrote Miss Granquist a couple of hot letters, with casual postscripts: ‘How did the snapshots turn out, darling?’ cracks like that.”

Kells got up, stretched. “You see, it gets better as it goes along,” he said.

“What are the pictures like?” Fenner was standing near Granquist, his little pointed chin thrust towards Kells.

“Don’t be silly. They’re right out of the pocket of one of those frogs that work along the Rue de Rivoli.” Kells ran his fingers through his hair. “That’s not the point though. It’s not what they are, it’s who they’re of: Mister John R. Bellmann, the big boss of the reform administration, the Woman’s Club politician — at the house and in the intimate company of Jack Rose, gambler, Crown Prince of the Western Underworld — and a couple of, well — questionable ladies.”

“And exactly what am I buying?”

“The negatives and one set of prints. My word that you’re getting all the negatives and that there are no other prints. The letters. And certain information as to what Mister Bellmann and Mister Rose talked about before they went under... ”

The door-bell rang.

Fenner said: “That’ll be Dillon.” He went out into the hallway and came back with a sandy-haired, spectacled man. Both of them were holding their hands above their shoulders in the conventional gesture of surprise. Two men whom Kells had never seen before came in behind them. One, the most striking, was rather fat and his small head stuck out of a stiff collar. His tie was knotted to stick straight out stiffly from the opening in his collar. He held a short blunt revolver in his hand.

The fat man said: “Go see if the tall one has got anything in his pockets.”

The other man went to Kells. He was a gray-faced nondescript young man in a tightly belted rain-coat. He went through Kells’ pockets very carefully and when he had finished, said: “Sit down.”

Dillon shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and the fat man, who was almost directly behind him, raised the revolver and brought the barrel down hard on the back of his head. Dillon grunted and his knees gave way and he slumped down softly to the floor.

The fat man giggled quietly, nervously. He said: “That’s one down. Every little bit helps.”

Kells sat down on the divan and leaned back and crossed his legs.

The fat man said: “Put your hands up, Skinny.”

Kells shook his head.

The young man in the rain-coat leaned forward and slapped Kells across the mouth. Kells looked up at him, and his face was very sad, his eyes were sleepy. He said: “That’s too bad.”

Fenner turned his head, spoke over his shoulder to the fat man. “What do you want?”

“I don’t want you. Go sit down in that chair by the window.”

Fenner crossed the room, sat down.

The fat man said: “Reach back of you and pull the shades shut.”

Granquist said sarcastically: “Now pull up a chair for yourself, Fat.” She leaned forward towards the table. “Ain’t you going to have a drink?”

Kells said: “Don’t say ain’t, sweet.”

The fat man sat down in the chair nearest the door. His elbows were on the arms of the chair and he held the revolver loosely on his lap.

He said: “I want a bunch of pictures that you tried to peddle to Bellmann, girlie.”

“Don’t call me girlie, you—!”

Kells looked at Granquist, shook his head sadly. “That’s something you forgot to tell me about,” he said.

“I want all the pictures,” the fat man repeated, “an’ I want two letters — quick.”

Granquist was staring at the fat man. She turned slowly to Kells. “That’s a lie, Gerry. I didn’t crack to Bellmann.”

Fenner stood up. “I won’t stand for this,” he said. He thrust his hands in his pockets and took a step forward.

“Sit down.” The fat man moved the revolver slightly until it focused on Fenner’s stomach.

Fenner stood still.

Kells said: “Does the fellah who sent you know that if anything happens to me, the whole inside gets a swell spread in the morning papers?... ”

The fat man smiled.

“... The inside of Haardt and the barge and Perry, and the Sunday-school picnic at Big Bear?” Kells went on.

Granquist was watching him intently.

“I made that arrangement this afternoon.” Kells leaned sidewise slowly and put his empty glass on an end-table.

The fat man looked at Fenner, and Kells, and then he looked at Granquist and at the bag tucked into the chair beside her. He said: “That’s a dandy. Let’s have a look at it, girlie.”

Granquist stood up in one swift and precise movement. She moved to the window so swiftly that the fat man had only time to stand up and take one step towards her before she had moved the drape aside with her shoulder, crashed the bag through the window.

Glass tinkled on the sill.

Kells stood up in the same instant and brought his right fist up from the divan in a long arc to the side of the gray-faced young man’s jaw.

The young man spun half around and Kells swung his right fist again to the same place. The young man fell half on the divan, half on the floor.

The fat man moved towards Kells, stopped in the center of the floor.

Granquist yelled: “Smack him, Gerry, he won’t shoot.”

Kells stood with his feet wide apart. He grinned at the fat man.

Fenner was standing near Granquist at the window. His eyes were wide and he tried to say something but the words stuck in his throat.

The fat man hacked towards the door. He said: “I ain’t got orders to shoot, but I sure will if you press me.” He backed out into the semi-darkness of the hallway and then the outer door slammed.

Granquist ran across the room, stopped a moment in the doorway, turned her head towards Kells. She said: “I’ll get the bag,” and she spoke so rapidly, so breathlessly, that the words were all run together into one word. She went into the darkness.

Kells turned to Fenner. “Give her a hand,” he said.

He bent over the young man, took a small automatic out of the rain-coat pocket and handed it to Fenner. “Hurry up — I’ve got to telephone — I’ll be right down.”

Fenner took the automatic dazedly. He looked at the man on the floor and at Kells, and then he came suddenly to life. “It’s in the court,” he said excitedly. “I can get out there from the third floor.”

“Maybe the bag was a stall. Don’t let her get out of your sight.” Kells sat down at the telephone.

Fenner hurried out of the room.

Kells waited until he heard the outer door slam, then got up and went to Dillon. He knelt and drew a long yellow envelope from Dillon’s inside breast pocket. It was heavily sealed. He tore off the end and spread the envelope by pressing the edges, looked inside. Then, smiling blankly, he tucked it into his pocket.

He went to the broken window, raised it carefully and leaned out over the wet darkness of the court for a moment. He went into the kitchen and stood on the stove, looked through the high ventilating window across the narrow air-shaft to the window of an adjoining apartment. Then he went into the bedroom and got his hat and Granquist’s coat and went out of the apartment, across the corridor to the elevator.

On the way down, he spoke to the elevator-boy: “Is it still raining?”

“Yes sir. It looks like it was going to rain all night.”

Kells said: “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

4

The night clerk came out of the telephone operator’s compartment.

Kells leaned on the desk. He said: “Your Mister Dillon is in ten-sixteen. He had an accident. There’s another man in there whom Fenner will file charges against. Have the house-dick hold him till Fenner gets back.”

He started to go, paused, said over his shoulder: “Maybe you’ll find another one trying to get in or out of the court. Probably not.”

He went out and walked up Ivar to Yucca, west on Yucca the short block to Cahuenga. The rain had become a gentle mist for the moment; it was warm, and occasional thunder drummed over the hills to the north. He went into an apartment house on the corner and asked the night man if Mr. Beery was in.

“He went out about ten minutes ago.” The night-man thought he might be in the drug-store across the street.

Beery was crouched over a cup of coffee at the soda-fountain.

Kells sat down beside him and ordered a glass of water, washed down two aspirin tablets. He said: “If you want to come along with me, you might get some more material for your memoirs.”

Beery put a dime on the counter and they went out, over to Wilcox. They went into the Wilcox entrance of the Venice, upstairs to the fourth floor and around through a long corridor to number four thirty-two.

Granquist opened the door. Her face was so drained of color that her mouth looked bloody in contrast to her skin. Her mouth was slightly open and her eyes were wide, burning. She held her arms stiffly at her sides.

There was a man lying on his face half in, half out of the bathroom. His arms were doubled up under his body.

Beery walked past Granquist, slowly across the room to a table. He turned his head slowly as he walked, kept his eyes on the man on the floor. He took off his hat and put it on the table.

Kells closed the door quietly and stood with his back against it.

Granquist stared at him without change of expression.

Beery glanced at them.

Kells smiled a little. He said: “This isn’t what I meant, Shep — maybe it’s better.”

Beery went to the man on the floor, squatted and turned the head sidewise.

Granquist swallowed. She said: “Gerry, I didn’t do it. I didn’t do it.”

Beery spoke softly, without looking up: “Bellmann.”

Kells locked the door. He looked at the floor, then he went to the table and reached under it with his foot, kicked an automatic out into the light.

Granquist walked unsteadily to a chair. She sat down and stared vacantly at Beery bending over the body. She said in a hollow, monotonous voice: “He was like that when I came in. I stopped downstairs and then I came up in the elevator and he was like that when I came in — just a minute ago.”

Kells didn’t look at her. He took out a handkerchief and picked up the automatic and held it to his nose. He held it carefully by the handkerchief and snapped the magazine out of the grip, said: “Two.”

Beery stood up.

Kells laughed suddenly. He threw back his head and roared with laughter. He sat down and put the automatic on the table, wiped his eyes with the handkerchief.

“—!” he said brokenly. “—, it’s beautiful!”

Granquist stared at Kells and then she leaned back in the chair and her eyes were very frightened. She said: “I didn’t do it.” She leaned back hard in the chair and closed her eyes tightly. She said: “I didn’t do it,” over and over again.

Kells’ laughter finally wore itself out. He wiped his eyes with the handkerchief and then he looked up at Beery. “Well,” he said, “why the hell don’t you get on the phone? You’ve got the scoop of the season.”

He leaned back and smiled at the ceiling, improvised headlines: “Boss Bellmann Bumped Off by Beauty. Politician — let’s see — Politician Plugged as Prowler by Light Lady.”

He stood up and crossed quickly to Beery, emphasized his words with a long white finger against Beery’s chest.

“Here’s a pip! Reformer Foiled. Killer says: ‘I shot to save my honor, the priceless inheritance of American Womanhood.’ ”

Beery went to the telephone. He said: “We’ve been a Bellmann paper — I’ll have to talk to the Old Man.”

“You — damned idiot! No paper can afford to soft-pedal a thing like this. Can’t you see that without an editorial O.K.?”

Beery nodded in a far-away way, dialed a number. He asked for a Mister Crane, and when Crane had answered, said: “This is Beery. Bellmann has just been shot by a jane, in her apartment, in Hollywood... Uh-huh very dead.”

He grinned up at Kells, listened to an evident explosion at the other end of the line. “We’ll have to give it everything, Mister Crane,” he went on. “It’s open and shut — there isn’t any out... O. K. Switch me to Thompson — I’ll give it to him.”

Granquist got up and went unsteadily to the door. She put her hand on the knob and then seemed to remember that the door was locked. She looked at the key but didn’t touch it. She turned and went into the dinette, took a nearly empty bottle out of the cupboard and came back and sat down.

Beery said: “What’s your name, sister?”

Granquist was trying to get the cork out of the bottle. She didn’t say anything or look up.

Kells said: “Granquist.” He looked at her for a moment, then went over to the window, turned his head slightly towards Beery: “Miss Granquist.”

Beery said: “Hello, Tom,” spoke into the telephone in a low, even monotone.

Kells turned from the window and crossed slowly to Granquist. He sat down on the arm of her chair and took the bottle out of her hands and took out the cork. He got up and went into the dinette and poured the whiskey into a glass and brought it back to her.

He sat down again on the arm of the chair. “Don’t take it so big, baby,” he said very softly and quietly. “You’ve got a perfect case. The jury’ll give you roses and a vote of thanks on the ‘for honor’ angle — and it’s the swellest thing that could happen for Fenner’s machine — it’s the difference between Bellmann’s administration and a brand new one.”

“I didn’t do it, Gerry.” She looked up at him and her eyes were dull, hurt. “I didn’t do it! I left the snaps and stuff in the office downstairs when I went out — the bag was a gag... ”

Kells said: “I knew they weren’t in the bag — you left it in the chair when you went into the bathroom.”

She nodded. She wasn’t listening to him. She had things to say. “I ran back here when I left Fenner’s. I picked up the stuff at the office — had to wait till the manager got the combination to the safe out of his apartment. Then I came up here to wait for you.”

She drank, put the glass on the floor. She turned, inclined her head towards Bellmann. “He was like that — he must have come here for the pictures — he’d been through my things... ”

Kells said: “Never mind, baby — it’s a set-up... ”

“I didn’t do it!” She beat her fist on the arm of the chair. Her eyes were suddenly wild.

Kells stood up.

Beery finished his report, hung up the receiver. He said: “Now I better call the station.”

“Wait a minute.” Kells looked down at Granquist and his face was white, hard. “Listen!” he emphasized the word with one violent finger. “You be nice. You play this the way I say and you’ll be out in a month, with the managers throwing vaudeville contracts at you. Maybe I can even get you out on bail... ”

He turned abruptly and went to the door, turned the key. “Or” — he jerked his head towards the door, looked at the little watch on the inside of his wrist — “there’s a Frisco bus out Cahuenga in about six minutes. You can make it — and ruin your case.”

Outside, sultry thunder rumbled and rain whipped against the windows.

Kells slid a note off the sheaf in his breast pocket, went over and handed it to her. It was a thousand-dollar note.

She looked at it dully, slowly stood up. Then she stuffed the note into the pocket of her suit and went quickly to the chair where Kells had thrown her coat.

Kells said: “Give me the Bellmann stuff.”

Beery was staring open-mouthed at Kells. “—! Gerry, you can’t do this,” he said. “I told Tommy we had the girl... ”

“She escaped.”

Granquist put on her coat. She looked at Kells and her eyes were soft, wet. She went to him and took a heavy manila envelope out of her pocket, handed it to him. She stood a moment looking up at him and then she turned and went to the door. She put her hand on the knob and turned it, and then took her hand away from the knob and held it up to her face. She stood like that for a little while and then she said: “All right,” very low.

She said: “All right,” again, very low and distinctly, and turned from the door and went back to the big chair and sat down.

Kells said: “Okey, Shep.”

5

About ten minutes later Beery got up and let Captain Hayes of the Hollywood Division in. There were two plain-clothesmen and an assistant coroner following close behind him.

The assistant coroner examined Bellmann’s body and looked up in a little while and said: “Instantaneous — two wounds, probably .32 caliber — one touched the heart.” He stood up. “Dead about twenty minutes.”

Hayes picked up the gun from where Kells had replaced it under the table, examined it, wrapped it carefully.

Kells smiled at him. “Old school,” he said, “along with silencers and dictaphones. Nowadays they wear gloves.”

Hayes said: “What’s your name?”

Beery said: “Oh, I’m sorry — I thought you knew each other. This is Gerry Kells... Captain. Hayes.”

“What were you doing here?” Hayes was a heavily built man with bright brown eyes. He spoke very rapidly.

“Shep and I came up to call on my girl friend here—” Kells indicated Granquist, who was still sitting with her coat on, staring at them all in turn, expressionlessly. “We found it just the way you see it.”

Hayes glanced at Beery, who nodded. Hayes spoke to Granquist: “Is that right, Miss?”

She looked up at him blankly for a moment, then nodded slowly.

“That’ll be about all, I guess.” Hayes looked at Kells; “You still at the Lancaster?”

Kells nodded. “You can always reach me through Shep,” he said.

Hayes said: “Come on, Miss.”

Granquist got up and went into the dressing-room and packed a few things in a small traveling-bag.

One of the plain-clothesmen opened the door, let two ambulance men in. They put Bellmann’s body on a stretcher, carried it out.

Kells leaned against the door-frame of the dressing-room, watched Granquist. He said: “I’ll be down in the morning with an attorney. In the meantime, keep quiet.”

She nodded vaguely and closed the bag, came out of the dressing-room. She said: “Let’s go.”

The manager of the apartment-house was in the corridor with one of the Filipino bell-boys, a reporter from the Journal, and a guest.

The manager said: “I can’t understand it — no one heard the shots.”

Hayes said: “Uh huh.”

One of the plain-clothesmen looked superiorly at the manager. He said: “The thunder covered the shots.”

They all went down the corridor except Beery and Kells. Beery said: “So long,” to the captain.

The manager stayed behind a moment. He said: “I’ll close up Miss Granquist’s apartment.”

Kells said: “Never mind — I’ll bring the key down.”

The manager was doubtful.

Kells looked very stern. He whispered: “Special investigator.” He and Beery went back into the apartment.

Beery called his paper again with additional information: “... Captain Hayes made the arrest... And don’t forget — the Chronicle is always first with the latest... ” He hung up, lighted a new cigarette from the butt of another. “From now on,” he said, “I’m going to follow you around and phone in the story of my life, from day to day.”

Kells asked: “Are you giving it an extra?”

“Sure. It’s on the presses now — be on the streets in a little while.”

“That’s dandy.”

Kells went into the kitchen, switched on the light. He looked out the kitchen-window and then he went to a tall cupboard — the kind of cupboard where brooms are kept in a modern apartment — opened the door.

Fenner came out, blinking in the bright light. He said: “I would have had” — he swallowed — “would have had to come out in another minute. I nearly smothered.”

“That’s too bad.”

Beery stood in the doorway. He said: “For the love of the—!”

Fenner went into the living-room, sat down. He was breathing hard.

Kells strolled in behind him and sat down across the room, facing him.

Fenner took out a handkerchief and dabbed at his mouth and forehead. He said: “I followed her, as you suggested, and when she went in through the lobby, I came up to the side-stair intending to meet her up here.”

Kells smiled gently, nodded.

“I didn’t want to be seen following her through the lobby, you know.”

“No.”

Beery was still standing in the kitchen doorway, staring bewilderedly at Fenner.

“I knocked but she hadn’t come up yet,” Fenner went on, “so I opened the door — it was unlocked — and came in.”

Kells said: “The door was unlocked?”

Fenner nodded. “In a few minutes I heard her coming up the hall and she was talking to a man. I went into the kitchen, of course, and she and Bellmann came in. They were arguing about something. Bellmann went into the bathroom, I think, and then I heard the two shots during one of the peals of thunder. I didn’t know what to do — and then when I was about to come out and see what had happened, you knocked at the door.”

Fenner paused, took a long breath. “I didn’t know it was you, of course, so I hid in the cupboard.”

Kells said: “Oh.”

“I thought it would be better if I didn’t get mixed up in a thing of this kind, anyway.”

Kells said, “Oh,” again. Then he looked up at Beery. “Sit down, Shep,” he said. “I want to tell you a story.”

Beery sat down near the door.

Kells stretched one long leg over the arm of his chair, made himself as comfortable as possible.

He said: “This afternoon I told Mister Fenner” — he inclined his head towards Fenner in one slow, emphatic movement — “that I knew a gal who had some very hot political info that she wanted to sell.”

Beery nodded almost imperceptibly.

“He was interested and asked me to send her to his hotel tonight. I had a talk with her, and the stuff sounded so good that I got interested too — took her to Fenner’s myself.”

Fenner was extremely uncomfortable. He looked at Kells and dabbed at his forehead; his lips were bent into a faint forced smile.

“We offered the information — information of great political value — to Mister Fenner at a very fair price,” Kells went on. “He agreed to it and called the manager of his hotel and asked him to bring up an envelope containing a large amount in cash.”

Kells turned his eyes slowly from Beery to Fenner. “When the manager came in — a couple of benders came in with him. They’d been waiting in the next apartment, listening across the air-shaft to find out what they had to heist — it was supposed to look like Rose’s stick-up — or Belmann’s.”

Fenner stood up.

Kells said: “But it was Mister Fenner’s. Mister Fenner wanted to eat his cake and have it too.”

Fenner took two steps forward. His eyes were flashing. He said: “That is a lie, sir — a tissue of falsehood!”

Kells spoke very softly, enunciating each word carefully, distinctly: “Sit down, you dirty—!”

Fenner straightened, glared at Kells. He half turned towards the door.

Kells got up and took three slow steps, then two swiftly, crashed his fist into Fenner’s face. There was a sickening crackly noise and Fenner fell down very hard.

Kells jerked him up and pushed him back into the chair. Kells’ face was worried, solicitous. He said very low — almost whispered: “Sit still.”

Then he went back to his chair and sat down.

“He’s been over-acting all evening,” Kells inclined his head towards Fenner. “One of the boys sapped the manager. They fanned me and made a pass for Granquist’s handbag. She tossed it out the window; I smacked one of them and the other one went after the bag. Granquist faked going after the bag too, and I sent Fenner after her, figuring that the stuff wasn’t in the bag and that she’d come back here and that the three of us would get together here for another little talk.”

Fenner was pressing himself back into the corner of the chair. He was holding his hands to his bloody face and moaning a little.

“When I sent Fenner after Granquist,” Kells went on, “I gave him a gun — one of the boy’s. He was so excited about getting to the bag, or keeping G. in sight, that he forgot to frisk the manager for his big dough... ”

Kells took the yellow envelope out of his pocket. “So I got it.” He leaned forward, pressed the edges of the envelope and a little packet of cigar coupons fell out on the floor.

“Almost enough to get a package of razor blades.”

Beery grinned.

Kells said: “Granquist headed over here, so Fenner knew that the bag had been a stall, followed her. When she came in past the office, he ducked up the side way and, figuring that she had come right up, knocked at her door.”

Beery said: “How did he know which apartment was hers?”

“He had us tailed from my hotel early this evening. His man got her number from the mail-boxes in the lobby, gave it to him before we got to his place tonight.”

Beery nodded.

Kells said: “Am I boring you?”

“Yes. Bore me some more.”

“Bellmann had come up here after some things he wanted — some very personal things that he couldn’t trust anyone else to get. He probably paid his way into the apartment — I’ll have to check up on that — and didn’t find what he was looking for, and when Fenner knocked, he thought it was either Granquist, who he wanted to talk to anyway, or whoever let him in.”

Kells took a deep breath. “He opened the door, and... ” Kells paused, got up and went to Fenner. He looked down at the little twisted man, smiled. “Mister Fenner knows a good thing when he sees it — he jockeyed Bellmann into a good spot and shot him through the heart... ”

Fenner mumbled something through his hands.

“He waited for a nice roll of off-stage thunder and murdered him.”

Beery said: “That’s certainly swell. And I haven’t got any more job than a rabbit.” He stood up and stared disconsolately at Kells. “My—! Bellmann killed by the boss of the opposition — the most perfect political break that could happen, for my paper — and I turn in an innocent girl, swing it exactly the other way, politically. My—!”

Beery sat down and reached for the telephone.

Kells said: “Wait a minute.”

Beery held up his right hand, the forefinger pointed, brought it down emphatically towards Kells. “—!”

Kells said: “Wait a minute, Shep.” His voice was very gentle. His mouth was curved in a smile and his eyes were very hot and intent.

Beery sat still.

Fenner got up. He was holding a darkening handkerchief to his face. He tottered towards the door.

Kells went past him to the door, locked it. He said: “Both of you — pipe down and sit still till I finish.”

He shoved Fenner back into the chair.

“As I was about to say — you were a little late, you heard Granquist outside the door, wiped off the rod — if you didn’t, I did when I put it back — put it under the table and ducked into the cupboard.”

Beery said slowly: “What do you mean, you wiped it off?”

Kells didn’t answer. Instead, he squatted in front of Fenner. “Listen, you,” he said. “What do you think I put on that act for — ribbed Granquist into taking the fall? Because she can beat it.” His elbows were on his knees. He pointed his finger forcibly at Fenner, sighted across it. “You couldn’t. You couldn’t get to first base.”

Fenner’s face was a bruised, fearful mask. He stared blankly at Kells.

“A few days ago — yesterday—” Kells went on, “all I wanted was to be let alone. I wasn’t. I was getting along fine — quietly — legitimately — and Rose and you and the rest of these — gave me action.”

He stood up. “All right — I’m beginning to like it.” He walked once to the window, back, bent over Fenner. “I’m taking over your organization, Fenner. Do you hear me? I’m going to run this town for a while — ride hell out it.”

He glanced at Beery, smiled. Then he turned again to Fenner, spoke quietly: “I was going East tomorrow. Now you’re going. You’re going to turn everything over to me and take a nice long trip — or they’re going to break your — damned neck with a rope.”

Kells went to the small desk, sat down. He found a pen, scribbled on a piece of Venice stationery. “And just to make it ‘legal, and in black and white,’ as the big business men say — you’re going to sign this — and Mister Beery is going to witness it.”

Beery said: “You can’t get away with a... ”

“No?” Kells paused, glanced over his shoulder at Beery. “I’ll get away with it big, young fellah. And stop worrying about your job — you’ve got a swell job with me. How would you like to be Chief of Police?”

He went on writing, then stopped suddenly, turned to Fenner. “I’ve got a better idea,” he said. “You’ll stay here, where I can hold a book on you. You stay here, and in your same spot — only you can’t go to the toilet without my O.K.” He got up and stood in the center of the room and jerked his head towards the desk. “There it is. Get down on it — quick.”

Fenner said: “Certainly not,” thickly.

Kells looked at the floor. He said: “Call Hayes, Shep.”

Beery reached for the telephone very slowly and deliberately.

Fenner didn’t look at him. He held his hands tightly over his face for a moment, and mumbled! “My—!” and then he got up and went unsteadily to the desk, sat down. He stooped over the piece of paper, read it carefully.

Kells said: “If Granquist beats the case — and she will — and you don’t talk out of turn, I’ll tear it up in a month or so.”

Fenner picked up the pen, shakily signed.

Kells looked at Beery, and Beery got up and went over and read the paper. He said: “This is a confession. Does it make me an accessory?”

Kells said: “It isn’t dated.”

Beery signed and folded the paper and handed it to Kells.

Kells glanced at it, looked at Fenner. “Now I want you to call your Coast Guardian man, Dickinson, and any other key-men you can get in touch with, and tell them to be at your joint in the Manhattan in a half-hour.”

Fenner went into the bathroom, washed his face. He came back and sat down at the telephone.

Kells held the folded paper out to Beery. “You’re going downtown, anyway, Shep,” he said. “Stick this in the safe at your office — I’ll be down in the morning and take it to the bank.”

Beery said: “Do I look that simple? I’ve got a wife and family.”

Kells grinned. He didn’t say anything. He put the folded paper in his pocket.

“Anyway, I’m not going downtown. I’m coming along.”

Kells nodded abstractedly, glanced at his watch. It was twenty-two minutes past ten.

Outside, there was a long ragged buzz of far-away thunder. The telephone clicked as Fenner dialed a number.

6

They sat in Fenner’s apartment at the Manhattan, and Beery, at Fenner’s instance, poured many drinks.

Fenner sat at one end of the divan, still holding a handkerchief to his face. That had been explained as a result of the hold-up earlier in the evening.

Hanline, Fenner’s secretary, was there — and Abe Gowdy, Fenner’s principal contact man with the liberal element. They hadn’t been able to reach Dickinson.

Gowdy swung the vote of every gambler, grafter, thief, bootlegger and so on, in the county, excepting the few independents who tried to get along without protection. He was a bald, paunchy man with big white bulbs of flesh under his eyes, a loose pale mouth. He wore dark, quiet clothes and didn’t drink.

Hanline was a curly-haired, thin-nosed Jew. He drank a great deal.

He and Beery and Kells all drank a great deal.

Kells walked up and down. He said: “Try him again.”

Fenner wearily reached for the phone, asked for a Fitzroy number. He listened a little while, hung up.

Kells stopped near Fenner, looked first at Gowdy, then Hanline.

“Gentlemen,” he said. “Lee” — he indicated Fenner with a fond pat on the shoulder — “Lee and I have entered into a partnership.” He paused, picked up a small glass full of whiskey and cracked ice, drained it.

“We all know,” he went on, “that things haven’t been so good the last three or four years — and we know that unless some very radical changes are made in the city government, things won’t get any better.”

Hanline nodded.

“Lee and I have talked things over and decided to join forces.” Kells put down the glass.

Gowdy said: “What do you mean, join forces, Mister Kells?”

Kells cleared his throat, glanced at Beery. “You boys have the organization,” he said. “You, Gowdy — and Frank Jensen, and O’Malley — and Lee, here. My contribution is very important political information, which I’ll handle in my own way and at my own time — and a lot of friends in the East who are going to be on their way out here tomorrow.”

Hanline looked puzzled. Gowdy glanced expressionlessly at Fenner.

“Bellmann’s dead,” Kells went on, “and the circumstances of his murder can be of great advantage to us if they’re handled in exactly the right way. But that, alone, isn’t going to swing an election. We’ve got the personal following of all this administration to beat — and we’ve got Rose’s outfit to beat... ”

Hanline said: “Rose?”

Kells poured himself another drink. “Rose has built up a muscle organization of his own in the last few months — and a week or so ago he threw in with Bellmann.”

Hanline and Gowdy glanced at one another, at Fenner.

Kells said: “There it is.” He sat down.

Fenner got up and went into the bedroom. He came back directly, said: “It’s a good proposition, Abe. Mister Kells wants to put the heat on Rose... ”

Kells interrupted: “I want to reach Dickinson tonight and see if we can’t get the first number of the Guardian on the streets by morning. There are certain angles on the Bellmann thing that the other papers won’t touch.”

Hanline said: “Maybe he’s at Ansel’s — but they don’t answer the phone there after ten.”

“Who’s Ansel?”

Hanline started to answer but Gowdy interrupted him. “Did you know that Rose was backing Ansel?” Gowdy was looking at Fenner.

Fenner shook his head, then spoke to Kells: “Ansel runs a couple crap-games down on Santa Monica Boulevard — Dickinson plays there quite a bit.”

Kells said: “So Dickie is a gambler?”

Hanline laughed. “I’ll bet he’s made a hundred thousand dollars with the dirt racket in the last year,” he said. “And I’ll bet he hasn’t got a dollar and a quarter.”

Kells smiled at Fenner. “You ought to take better care of your hired men,” he said. Then he got up and finished his drink and put on his hat. “I’ll go over and see if I can find him.”

Beery said: “I’ll come along.”

Kells shook his head slightly.

Hanline stood up, stretched. He said: “It’s the first building on the south side of the street, west of Gardner — used to be a scene-painter’s warehouse or something like that — upstairs.”

“Thanks.” Kells asked Fenner: “Dickinson’s the guy that was typewriting at the place downtown?”

Fenner nodded.

Hanline said: “If you don’t mind, I’m going back downstairs and get some sleep. I was out pretty late last night.”

“Sure.” Kells glanced at Gowdy.

Gowdy said: “I’ll stick around.”

Kells and Hanline went out, down in the elevator. Hanline got off at the fifth floor.

Kells stopped at the desk, asked for the house detective. The clerk pointed out a heavy, sad-eyed man who sat reading a paper near the door. Kells went over to him and said: “You needn’t hold the man Fenner was going to file charges against.”

The man put down his paper. He said: “Hell, he was gone when I got upstairs. There wasn’t nobody there but Mister Dillon.”

Kells said: “Oh.” He scratched the back of his head. “How’s Dillon?”

“He’ll be all right.”

Kells went out and got into a cab.

7

Ansel’s turned out to be a dark, three-story business block set flush with the sidewalk. There were big For Rent signs in the plate-glass windows, and there was a dark stairway at one side.

Kells told the cab-driver to wait, went upstairs.

Someone opened a small window in a big heavily timbered door, surveyed Kells dispassionately.

Kells said: “I want to see Ansel.”

“He ain’t here.”

“I’m a friend of Dickinson’s — I want to see him.”

The window closed and the door swung slowly open. Kells went into a very small room littered with newspapers and cigarette butts. The man who had looked at him through the window, patted his pockets methodically, silently.

Another man, a very dark-skinned Italian or Greek, sat in a worn wicker chair tilted back against one wall.

He said: “Your friend Dickinson — he is very drunk.”

Kells said: “So am I,” and then the other man finished feeling his pockets, went to another heavy door, opened it.

Kells went into a very big room. It was dark except for two clots of bright light at the far end. He walked slowly back through the darkness, and the hum of voices grew louder, broke up into words:

“Eight... Point is eight, a three way... Get your bets down, men... Throws five — point is eight... Throws eleven, a field point, men... Throws four — another fielder. Get ’em in the field, boys... Five... Seven out. Next man. Who likes this lucky shooter?... ”

Each of the two tables was lined two-deep with men. One powerful green-shaded light hung above each. The dice-man’s voice droned on:

“Get down on him, boys... Ten — the hard way... Five... Ten — the winner... All right, boys, he’s coming out. Chunk it in... ”

Kells saw Dickinson. He was standing at one end of one of the tables. He was swaying back and forth a little and his eyes were half closed, and he held a thick sheaf of bills in his left hand.

“Seven — the winner... ”

Dickinson leaned forward and put his forefinger unsteadily down beside a stack of bills on the line. The changeman reached over, counted it and put a like amount beside it.

“Drag fifty, Dick,” he said. “Hundred dollar limit.”

Dickinson said thickly: “Bet it all.”

The change-man smiled patiently, picked up a fifty-dollar bill and tossed it on the table nearer Dickinson.

A small, pimpled old man at the other end of the table, caught the dice as they were thrown to him, put them into the black leather box, breathed into it devoutly, rolled.

Kells elbowed closer to the table.

“Eleven — the winner... ”

Dickinson stared disgustedly at the change-man as a hundred dollars in tens and twenties was counted out, lain down beside his line bet. The change-man said: “Drag a C, Dick.”

“Bet it!” Dickinson said angrily.

Kells looked at the change-man. He said: “Can you raise the limit if I cover it behind the line?”

The man glanced at a tall well-dressed youth behind him for confirmation, nodded.

Kells took a wad of bills out of his trouser pocket and put two hundred-dollars down behind the line. Dickinson looked up and his bleary, heavy-lidded eyes came gradually to focus on Kells.

He said: “Hello there,” very heartily. Then he looked as if he was trying hard to remember, and said: “Kells! How are ya, boy?”

At mention of Kells’ name it became very quiet for a moment.

Kells said: “I’m fine.”

The little, pimpled man rolled.

The dice-man said: “Six — the easy one... He will or he won’t... Nine — pays the field... Six — right... ”

The change-man picked up Kells’ two hundred-dollar bills, tossed them down beside Dickinson’s bet.

Dickinson grinned. He said: “Bet it.”

Kells took a thousand-dollar note from his breast pocket, put it down behind the line.

Dickinson said: “Better lay off — I’m right... ”

“Get down on the bill.” Kells smiled faintly, narrowly.

“—damned if I won’t.” Dickinson counted his money on the table and the money in his hand: “Four hundred, six, eight, nine, a thousand, thousand one hundred and thirty. Tap me.”

The tall young man said: “Hurry up, gentlemen — you’re holding up the game.”

Several men wandered over from the other table. The little man holding the dice-box said: “—! I don’t want... ”

Kells was counting out the additional hundred and thirty dollars.

Dickinson said: “Roll.”

“Eleven — the winner.”

The change man picked up Kells’ money, cut off a twenty for the house, threw the rest down in front of Dickinson.

The little man raked in the few dollars he had won for himself, walked away.

The dice-man picked up the box.

Kells said: “Got enough?”

“Hell, no! I’ll bet it all on my own roll.” Dickinson held out his hand for the box.

“Make it snappy, boys.” The tall young man frowned, nodded briefly at Kells.

Dickinson was checking up on the amount. He said. “Two thousand, two hundred and forty... ”

Kells put three thousand-dollar notes behind the line. The dice-man threw a dozen or more glittering red dice on the table — Dickinson carefully picked out two.

“Get down your bets, men... A new shooter... We take big ones and little ones... Come, don’t come, hard way, and in the field... Bet ’em either way... ”

Dickinson was shaking the box gently, tenderly, near his ear. He rolled.

“Three — that’s a bad one... ”

Kells picked up his three notes, and the change-man raked up the bills in front of Dickinson, counted them into a stack, cut off one and handed the rest to Kells.

“Next man... Get down on the next lucky shooter, boys... ”

Kells folded the bills, stuck them into his pocket.

Dickinson looked at the tall young man. He said: “Let me take five hundred, Less.”

The young man didn’t look at him; turned and walked over to the other table.

Kells gestured with his head and went over to a round green-covered table out of the circle of light. Dickinson followed him. They sat down.

Kells said: “Can you get the paper out by tomorrow morning?”

Dickinson was fumbling through his pockets, brought out a dark-brown pint bottle. He took out the cork, held the bottle towards Kells. He said: “Wha’ for?”

Kells shook his head, but Dickinson shoved the bottle into his hands. Kells took a drink, handed it back.

“Bellmann was fogged tonight and I want to give it a big spread.”

“The hell you say.” Dickinson stared blankly at Kells. “Well wha’d’ y’ know about that!” Then he seemed to remember Kells’ question. “Sure.”

Kells said: “Let’s go.”

“Wait a minute. Let’s have another drink.”

They drank.

Dickinson said: “Listen. Wha’d’ y’ think happened tonight? Somebody called me up and offered me ten grand, cold turkey, to ditch Lee.”

“Ditch him, how?”

“I don’t know. They said all I had to do was gum up the works some way so that the paper wouldn’t come out. They said I’d get five in cash in the mail tomorrow, and the rest after the primaries.”

“What did you say?”

I said: “Listen, sister, Lee Fenner’s been a — damned good friend to me. I said... ”

Kells said: “Sister?”

“Yeah. It was a broad.”

They got up and went through the semi-darkness to the little room, out and downstairs to the street. It was raining very hard. Dickinson said he had a car, and Kells paid off the cab, and they went into the vacant lot alongside the building.

Dickinson’s car was a Ford coupe; he finally found his keys and opened the door.

Then a bright spot-light was switched on in a car at the curb. There was a sharp choked roar and something bit into Kells’ leg, into his side.

Dickinson stumbled, fell down on his knees on the running-board; his face and the upper part of his body sagged forward to the floor of the car. He lay still.

8

Kells lay down in the mud beside the car and drew up his knees, and he could taste blood in his mouth. His teeth were sunk savagely, deeply into his lower lip and there were jagged wires of pain in his brain, jagged wires in his side.

He knew it had been a shotgun, and he lay in the mud, with rain whipping his face, and wondered if Dickinson was dead; waited for the gun to cough again.

Then the spot-light went out and Kells could hear the car being shifted into gear; he twisted his head a little and saw it pass through the light near the corner — a black touring-car with the side-curtains drawn — a Cadillac.

He crawled up on to the running-board of the Ford and shook Dickinson a little, and then he steadily, painfully, pushed Dickinson up into the car — slowly.

He pressed the knob that unlocked the opposite door, and limped around the car and crawled into the driver’s seat. He could feel blood on his side; blood pounded through his head, his eyes. He pried the keys out of Dickinson’s hand and started the motor.

Dickinson was an inert heap beside him. He groaned, coughed in a curious dry way.

Kells said: “All right, boy. We’ll fix it up in a minute.”

Dickinson coughed again in the curious way that was like a laugh. He tried to sit up, fell forward, his head banged against the windshield. Kells pulled him back into the seat and drove out of the lot, turned east on Santa Monica.

Dickinson tried to say something, groped with one hand in the side-pocket. He finally gave it up, managed to gasp: “Gun — here.”

Kells said: “Sit still.”

They went down Santa Monica Boulevard very fast, turned north on La Brea. Kells stopped halfway up the block and felt in Dickinson’s pocket for the bottle; but it had been broken, the pocket was full of wet glass.

They went up La Brea to Franklin, over Franklin to Cahuenga, up Cahuenga and Iris to Cullen’s house.

Kell’s side and leg had become numb. He got out of the car as quickly as he could, limped up the steps. Cullen answered the first ring. He stood in the doorway, looking elaborately disgusted, said: “Again?”

Kells said: “Give me a hand, Willie. Hurry up.” He started back down the steps.

“No! — damn you and your jams!”

Kells turned and stared at Cullen expressionlessly, and then he went on down the steps. Cullen followed him, muttering, and they got Dickinson out of the car, carried him up into the house.

Cullen was breathing heavily. He said: “Why the hell don’t you take him to the Receiving Hospital?”

“I’ve been mixed up in five shootings in the last thirty-two hours.” Kells went to the telephone, grinned over his shoulder at Cullen. “It’s like old times — one more, and they’ll hang me on principle.”

“Haven’t you got any other friends? This place was lousy with coppers yesterday.”

“Wha’s the matter, darling?”

Kells and Cullen turned, looked at the stairway. Eileen, Cullen’s girl, was standing half way down. She swayed back and forth, put her hand unsteadily on the banister. She was very drunk.

She drawled: “Hello, Gerry.”

Cullen said: “Go back up stairs and put on your clothes, you!” He said it very loudly.

Kells laughed. He said: “Oh—! I can’t telephone. Cal Doc Janis — will you, Willie?” He limped to the door, looked down at his torn, muddy, blood-stained clothes.

“Loan me a coat, Willie,” he said. “I’ll get wet.”

A black touring-car with the side-curtains. drawn was parked in the reserved space in front of the Manhattan. Kells had been about to park across the street; he slowed down and blinked at it. The engine was running and there was a man at the wheel. It was a Cadillac.

He stepped on the throttle, careened around the corner, parked in front of the library. He jumped out and took the revolver out of the side-pocket, slipped it into the pocket of Cullen’s big coat; he turned up the deep collar and hurried painfully back across the street, down an alley to a service entrance of the hotel.

The boy in the elevator said: “Well, I guess I was right. I guess it’s going to rain all night.”

Kells said: “Uh huh.”

“Tch, tch, tch.” The boy shook his head sadly.

“Has Mister Fenner had any visitors since I left?”

“No, sir — I don’t think so. Not many people in and out tonight. There was three gentlemen went up to nine a little while ago. They was drunk, I guess.”

He slid the door open. “Ten, sir.”

Kells said: “Thank you.”

He listened at the door of ten-sixteen, heard no sound. He rang the bell and stood close to the wall with the revolver in his hand. The inner hallway was narrow — the door would have to be opened at least halfway before he could be seen.

It opened almost at once, slowly. A yellow-white face took form in the darkness, and Kells stepped into the doorway. He held the revolver belly-high in front of him. The yellow-white face faded backwards as Kells went in, until it was the black outline of a man’s head against orange light of the living-room, until it was the figure of a short Latin standing with his back against the wall at one side of the door, his arms stretched out.

Beyond him, Fenner and Beery kneeled on the floor, their faces to the wall. On the other side of the room, O’Donnell stood with a great blue automatic levelled at Kell’s chest.

O’Donnell was bare-headed and a white bulge of gauze and cotton was plastered across his scalp. His mouth was open and he breathed through it slowly, audibly.

Except for the sharp sound of O’Donnell’s breathing, it was entirely still.

Kells said: “I’ll bet I can shoot faster than you, Adenoids.”

O’Donnell didn’t say anything. His pale eyes glittered in a sick face, and the big automatic was dull and steady in his fat pink hand.

Fenner leaned forward, put his head against the wall. Beery turned slowly and looked at Kells. The Mexican was motionless, bright-eyed.

Then Beery said: “Look out!” and something dull and terrible crashed against the back of Kells’ head, there was dull and terrible blackness. It was filled with thunder and smothering blue, and something hot and alive pulsed in Kells’ hand. He fell.

There was a light that hurt his eyes very much, even when they were closed. Someone was throwing water in his face. He said: “Stop that, — damn it — you’re getting me wet!”

Beery said: “Sh — easy.”

Kells opened his eyes a little. “The place is backwards.”

“This is the one next-door, the one across the air-shaft, where Fenner’s stick-up men were stashed. Fenner had the key.” Beery spoke very quietly.

“—! my head. How did I get in here?”

Beery said: “Papa carried you.” He stood up and went to the door for a minute, came back and sat down. “And what a piece of business! You were out on your feet — absolutely cold — squeezed that iron, one, two, three, four, five, six — like that. One in the wall about six inches above my head, five in baby-face.”

“That was O’Donnell.” Kells closed his eyes and moved his head a little. “Then I faw down.” He opened his eyes.

Beery nodded.

“Who hit me?”

“Rose.”

Kells looked interested. “What with — a piano?”

“A vase... ”

“Vahze.”

Beery said: “A vase — a big one out of the bedroom. I don’t think he had a gun.”

“Would you mind beginning at the beginning?” Kells closed his eyes.

“After you left, Fenner and Gowdy sat there like a couple bumps on a log, afraid to crack in front of me.”

Kells nodded carefully, held his head in his hands.

“After a while, Gowdy got bored and went home — he lives around the corner. I was sucking up a lot of red-eye, having a swell time. Then about five minutes before you got here, the bell rang and Fenner went to the door, backed in with Rose and O’Donnell and the spiggoty. O’Donnell and the spick were snowed to the eyes. Rose said: ‘What did Kells get from the gal that bumped Bellmann, and where is it?’ Fenner went into a nose-dive — he was scared wet, anyway. They made us get down on the floor... ”

Kells laughed. He said: “You looked like a couple communicants.”

“... and Rose frisked both of us and started fearing up the furniture. Some way or other, I got the idea that whether he found what he was looking for or not, we weren’t going to tell about it afterwards.”

Beery paused, lighted a cigarette, went on quietly: “Rose was sore as hell, and O’Donnell and the greaser were licking their chops for blood. The greaser kept fingering a chiv in his belt — you know: the old noiseless ear to ear gag.”

Kells said: “Maybe. They popped Dickinson and me outside Ansel’s. If they’re that far in the open, they’d want to get Fenner too.”

“And Beery — the innocent bystander... ”

“I doubt it though, Shep. I don’t think Rose would have come along if it was a kill.”

“Well, anyway — he’d gotten around to the bedroom when you rang. He switched out the light and waited in there in the dark. You came in and went into your wild-west act with baby-face, and Rose came out behind you and took a bead on your skull with the vase — vahze. Then he and the greaser screwed — quick.”

Kells reached suddenly into his inside pocket, then took his hand out, sighed. “Didn’t he fan me?”

“No. I grabbed O’Donnell’s gun when he fell — anyway, I think Rose was too scared to think about that.”

Kells said: “Go on.”

Beery looked immensely superior. “Well, the old rapid-fire Beery brain got to work,” he said. “I figured that you had to be gotten out of there quick, and I remembered what you’d said about this place next-door. Fenner was about to go into his fit. I got the key from him and talked about thirty seconds’ worth of sense, and carried you in here — and the gun.” He nodded at the revolver on the couch beside Kells.

“Where’s Fenner now?”

“Over at the station, filing murder charges against Rose and the greaser.”

Kells said: “That’s swell.”

“The house-dick and a bunch of coppers and a lot of neighbors who had heard the barrage got here at about the same time. It was the fastest police action I’ve ever seen; must have been one of the radio cars. I listened through the air-shaft. Fenner had pulled himself together, and told a beautiful story about Rose and O’Donnell and the Mex crashing in, and O’Donnell getting rubbed in a fight with Rose.”

Beery mashed out his cigarette. “He’s telling it over at headquarters now — or maybe he’s on his way back. You’ve been out about a half-hour.”

Kells sat up unsteadily. He said: “Give me a drink of water.”

A little later there was a tap at the door, and Beery opened it, let Fenner in.

Fenner looked very tired. He said: “How are you, Gerry?”

“I’m fine, Lee — how are you?” Kells grinned.

“Terrible... terrible! I can’t stand this kind of thing.” Fenner sat down.

“Maybe you’d better take a trip, after all.” Kells smiled faintly, picked up the revolver. “Things are going to be more in the open. I’ll have to carry a gun.” He looked down at the revolver.

“By—! I’ll get a permit for a change,” he said. “Can you fix that up?”

Fenner nodded wearily. “I guess so.”

“And Lee, we made a deal tonight — I mean early — the twenty-five grand, you know. I’m going to handle the stuff, of course; but in the interests of my client, Miss Granquist, I’ll have to consummate the sale.”

Fenner looked at the floor.

“A check’ll be all right.”

Fenner nodded. “I’ll go in and make it out,” he said. “Then I’ll have to say good night — I’m all in.”

Kells said: “That’ll be all right.”

Fenner went out and closed the door.

Kells sat looking at the door for a moment, and then he said:

“Shep — you’re the new editor of the Coast Guardian. How do you like that?”

“Lousy. I don’t carry enough insurance.”

“You’ll be all right. A hundred a week and all the advertising you can sell, on the side.”

“When do I start?”

“Right now. I parked Dickinson up at Bill Cullen’s. I’ll drop you there, and you can get the details from him — if he’s conscious. I’ll turn the, uh — data over to you.”

Beery rubbed his eyes, yawned. He smiled a little and said: “Oh, well, what the hell. I guess I’m beginning to like it, too.”

Kells looked at his wrist. “The — smashed my watch — what time is it?”

“Twelve-two.”

“—! I’m late.” Kells picked up the telephone and called a Hempstead number.

He said: “Hello, baby... Sure... Have you got any ham and eggs?... Have you got some absorbent cotton and bandages and iodine?... That’s fine, I’ll be up in about ten minutes... I’ve been on a party.”