Fast One

Chapter Seven

Kells said: “Well...”

Borg was half standing. He moved his arm and very deliberately put the cards down on the table, then straightened, moved toward Woodward’s body.

Kells said: “Don’t go near the window.”

Granquist came into the bedroom door and stood with one hand up to her face, staring at Woodward.

Borg said: “It must have been from that joint.” He pointed through the window to the tall apartment house halfway down the block.

Kells said gently: “Bring me my clothes.” Granquist didn’t move, stood staring at Woodward blankly. Kells stood up. He said: “Bring me my clothes.” Borg went swiftly to the bedroom door, past Granquist into the bedroom, coming back almost immediately with a tangled mass of clothes under his arm. He held a short blunt revolver in one hand down straight at his side.

Granquist went to a chair against one wall and picked up her coat and put it on. She went to the table and stood with both hands on the table, leaning forward a little.

Kells sat down and took his clothes from Borg, one piece at a time, put them on. The phone rang.

Kells picked it up, said: “Hello... Shep — we’re shoving off. Woodward’s just been shot — through the window, from the roof of the place next door... Uh hum. Maybe some of Crotti’s boys tailed Fenner — your guess is as good as mine... Call me in a half-hour at the Ambassador. If I’m not there I’ll be in jail — or on a slab... Hell! No. Let ’em find him... ’Bye.”

He hung up, finished dressing rapidly, got up and limped to one side of the big window and pulled the cord that closed the drapes. Woodward’s hand was clenched on the bottom of one of the drapes and it moved a little as the drape closed. The paper had fallen, lay a little way from his other hand.

Kells stood looking down at Woodward a minute, then went to the table and picked up the two thin stacks of money, put them in his pocket.

Borg had gone back into the bedroom. He came into the doorway and he had put on his shirt and coat, he went to a mirror near the outer door and carefully put on his hat. Granquist picked up the crutches. Kells shook his head, said: “My leg feels swell.” They went out into the corridor.

There was a man standing near the elevators but he paid no attention to them, entered one of the elevators while they were still halfway down the hall.

They waited a minute or so, got into the same elevator when it came back up. It was automatic — Kells pushed the sub-basement button. He said: “Maybe...?”

Borg watched the sixth floor go by through the little wire-glass window. “The basement is as good a hunch as any,” he said. “There’s a garage with a driveway out onto Cherokee. Maybe we can promote a car — or if we can get down to Highland, to the cab stand...”

“Why didn’t you call a cab?” Granquist was leaning back in a corner of the elevator.

Kells looked at her vacantly, as if he had not heard. “Maybe this is a lot of hooey,” he said — “maybe we’re a cinch. But if that was Crotti” — he gestured with his head up toward the apartment — “he’ll have a dozen beads on the place.” The elevator stopped and they went into a dark corridor, down to a door to the garage. There was a tall man with a very small mustache asleep in a big car near the archway that led out into Cherokee. He woke up when Borg stepped on the running board.

Borg asked: “How’re chances of renting a car?” The man rubbed his eyes, climbed out and stood between Kells and Borg. He said: “Sure. I got a Buick an’ I got a Chrysler.”

“Are either of them closed?” Kells leaned on Granquist’s shoulder, winked at Borg meaninglessly. The man said: “Yeah — the Buick.”

He went toward a Car five down the line from the one he had been sleeping in.

Kells said: “That’ll do. How much deposit do you want?”

“You want a driver?”

“No.” Borg opened one rear door of the car and helped Granquist in.

The man said: “No deposit if you live here. It’s two an’ a quarter an hour.”

“Maybe we’ll be out all night — you’d better take this.” Kells gave the man two bills, got in through the front door carefully. He put his leg out straight under the dashboard.

Borg went around to the other side and squeezed in behind the wheel. He pressed the starter and the man reached in and pulled the choke and the engine roared; Borg scowled at the man and pushed the choke back in. They swung in a wide circle out through the archway into the sunlight.

Kells turned and spoke sharply to Granquist: “Lie down on the seat.”

She muttered something unintelligible and lay down on her side across the back seat.

They turned swiftly down Cherokee and a spurt of name came out of a parked, close curtained limousine to meet them, lead thudded, bit into the side of the car. Borg stepped on the throttle, they plunged forward, past.

Kells looked back at Granquist. She was lying with her eyes tightly closed and her face was very white. He put one arm back toward her and she rose suddenly to her knees, put her hands on his shoulder.

He smiled. “We’re all right, baby,” he said softly. “They build these cars in Detroit — that’s machine-gun country.”

Borg was crouched over the wheel. He spoke out of the side of his mouth: “Are they coming?”

Kells was looking back, shook his head. “They’re turning around — they were parked the wrong way.” Granquist slid back to the seat.

They turned west on Yucca to Highland, jogged up Highland to Franklin, turned west on Franklin. They stopped between Sycamore and La Brea a little while and watched through the glass oval in the back of the car; the limousine had evidently been lost.

Borg got out and looked at the side of the car.

“It must have jammed,” he said. “Four little holes, and a nick on one of the headlights. One of ’em missed the carburetor by about an inch — that was a break.”

Kells said: “Let’s go over and see how Faber is making out.”

Borg climbed back into the car and they went on up Franklin to La Brea and down La Brea to Fountain. At the corner of Fountain and Harper they parked under a big pepper tree.

Kells turned around and spoke to Granquist: “You take the car — you can drive it, can’t you? — and go down to the Ambassador and wait for us.” He reached into his pocket, fished out a key. “Go up to my room and pack all the stuff that isn’t already packed. Call up the Santa Fe and tell ’em to send the reservations there. If we get everything cleaned up tonight we’ll drive down to San Bernardino and lay low tomorrow and get the Chief out of there tomorrow night.”

Kells and Borg got out of the car and Granquist climbed over into the front seat. She said, “Be careful,” without looking at Kells. She shifted gears and let the clutch in a little way and the car moved ahead.

Kells said: “Beery’ll be calling in a little while. Tell him to come up to the hotel as soon as he can.”

Granquist nodded without turning and the car moved ahead swiftly.

Kells and Borg crossed to the west side of Harper and walked slowly up toward Sunset Boulevard. Kells’ limp was pronounced.

Borg asked: “How is it?” He bobbed his head at Kells’ leg.

“All right.”

They went slowly and without speaking up Harper, and a little way below the Villa Dora, Faber stuck his head out of Borg’s car. They went over to it and Kells got into the tonneau and sat down; Borg stood outside, leaned on the front door.

Faber said: “Nothing yet.”

Kells sat for several minutes staring absently at a long scratch on the back of the front seat. Then he said: “Let’s go in and see what we can find.” He leaned forward.

Faber lifted the flap of the right side pocket, slipped a black Luger out onto the seat beside him. He turned and looked at Kells and nodded at the gun. Kells reached over and took the gun and stuck it into the waistband of his trousers, pulled the point of his vest down over it.

“We’re going in to try to find a hundred and fifteen grand in cash,” he said. “I don’t know who’s got it — we’ll have to try the mailboxes and see if we can get a lead.”

Borg said: “We probably won’t.”

Kells opened the door and started to get out.

“Why don’t you wait here and I’ll see if I can find anything?” Borg took a light-colored cigar out of his outer breast pocket and bit off the end.

Kells looked at him a moment sleepily, nodded, sat down.

Borg went up the street and disappeared into the Villa Dora. He was back in a few minutes with a soiled envelope on which he had scrawled the names of the occupants.

Kells took it, looked at it, asked: “Are you sure this is all?”

“Yeah.” Borg nodded. “It’s a big joint, but I guess the apartments are big too — there are only twelve mailboxes.”

Kells studied the names. Then he said: “MacAlmon — that’s Bellmann’s silksock ward heeler. I thought he lived in Beverly Hills.” He stared at the envelope. “That’d be a tricky piece of business — if MacAlmon was go-between on the white stuff. I can figure his tie-up with Max Hesse — if Hesse is really the buyer — but how the hell would Crotti get to him?”

Faber looked interested at the mention of Crotti’s name. He said: “Maybe this would be more fun for me if I knew what it was all about.”

Borg said: “Crotti’s delivering a load of C, and the hundred and fifteen we want to locate is what somebody up there” — he jerked his head toward the apartment house — “has got to pay for it with.”

“Oh.” Faber turned to Kells. “Count me out — I don’t want any part of Crotti.”

Kells smiled slowly. He said: “Okay.”

Faber started to get out of the car and then he looked at Kells’ hands; Kells had slipped the Luger out of his waistband, was holding it loosely on his lap.

Borg said: “Aw, for God’s sake, cut it out.” He looked from Kells to Faber.

Kells was smiling faintly at Faber. He said very seriously: “Your cut on this lick is ten grand. You’ve got one coming now — an’ you can have it, but you’ll have to stick around until this is over.” He put his hand into his pocket and slid out a roll of bills, pulled one off and held it toward Faber.

Faber looked at it a little while, then he grinned sourly, said: “Well — if I’ve got to stay I might as well work.” He took the bill, folded it carefully and put it into his watch pocket. “Deal me in — ten grand’ll buy a lot of flowers.”

“Me — I want to be cremated.” Borg was staring soberly into space. “No flowers, but plenty of music.” He glanced at Kells. “You know — Wagner.”

Kells said: “Let’s go and see if Mister MacAlmon is in.”

He and Faber got out of the car and they all went up the street and into the Villa Dora.

Mister MacAlmon was in. He stood in the middle of his high-ceilinged living room with his hands in the air.

Kells said: “I’m sorry about this. I haven’t anything against you or Hesse — if Hesse is in with you? But I’ve got plenty against Crotti and plenty against your whole bloody combination. I’ve been double-crossed to death. I’m goddamned tired of it — an’ I need the dough.”

MacAlmon was almost as tall as Kells. His thick brown hair was combed straight back from a high narrow forehead, and his eyes were dark, sharp.

He said: “This is plain robbery. How far do you think you’re going to get with it?”

“Don’t be silly.” Kells looked at the stack of currency on the table. “I’ll have the federal narcotic squad on their way out here in two minutes — and I’ll see that you’re here when they get here. Then all they’ll have to do is wait for the stuff to come in. When you’re pinched on a dope deal that’s this big, see who you can get to listen to a squawk about money.”

Borg was leaning against the outer door spinning the blunt revolver around his forefinger. Faber had waited outside.

Kells went to the telephone on a low round table, picked it up. “I’ve never called ‘copper’ on anybody in my life,” he said. “But here it is...” He spun the dial.

MacAlmon put his hand down. He said: “Wait a minute.” He sat down in a big chair and leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. He looked at Kells and his face was flushed and he tried very hard to smile. “Wait a minute.”

Kells said into the telephone: “Information — what’s the number of the Federal Building?” He waited a moment, said, “Thank you,” pressed the receiver down with his thumb.

MacAlmon said: “How would you like to make twenty-five more?” He inclined his head toward the money on the table.

“This is enough.” Kells shook his head. “All I want is a fair price for the time I’ve put in. This is it.”

MacAlmon leaned back in the chair. “The stuff that’s being-delivered here this afternoon is worth exactly twice what’s being paid for it, to me — my people,” he said. “I don’t care who gets the money — if you’ll hold off until the transfer has been made and the stuff is in my possession I’ll give you a twenty-five grand bonus.”

Kells said: “No.”

Someone knocked at the door.

Borg pressed his lips together and let his eyelids droop, shook his head sadly. He held the blunt, black revolver loosely in his hand and looked at Kells.

Kells framed the word, “Faber,” with his lips. Borg kept on shaking his head. Kells took the Luger out of his belt and crossed the room and stood close to the wall; he nodded slightly to Borg.

Crotti and two other men came in. One of the men was carrying a big pigskin kitbag; one carried two. Crotti looked at MacAlmon and then he turned his head and looked at Borg. He hadn’t seen Kells. The man with one bag put it down on the floor, straightened. Borg closed the door. Kells said: “Hello.”

The man who had been carrying one bag took one step sideways. At the same time he jerked an automatic out of a shoulder holster, sank to one knee and swung the automatic up toward Borg. Borg’s gun roared twice.

Crotti had taken two or three steps forward. His head was turned toward Kells and his black wide-set eyes were big, his thick red mouth hung a little open.

The man with two bags still stood just inside the door. His small face was entirely expressionless; he bent his knees slowly and put down the bags. The other man looked up at Borg and his face was soft and childlike and surprised; then he toppled over on his side.

MacAlmon was standing up. Kells moved toward Crotti. Borg was staring at Crotti: he moved suddenly forward, very swiftly for a fat man, and took the revolver barrel in his left hand and swung the gun back and brought it down hard on the back of Crotti’s head. Crotti was still looking at Kells. His eyes went dull and he fell down very hard.

The man with two bags had turned and put his hand on the doorknob. Kells said, “Hey,” and the man turned and stood with his back against the door.

Kells went to the door swiftly and reached past the man and turned the key in the lock and took it out and put it in his pocket. He went back to the table and put down the Luger, scooped the money up and stuffed it into his pockets. He glanced at MacAlmon, indicated the three kitbags with his eyes.

“Now you’ve got it. What are you going to do with it?”

MacAlmon was staring down at Crotti. Borg was watching the man at the door. Kells said: “We’re off!”

Borg went to the man at the door and patted his pockets, felt under his arms.

They went out through the kitchen, out through the service entrance into the hall. They heard someone pounding at the front door as they went out. They went down the hall, down the back stairs and out a side door to a small patio. At the street side of the patio Borg stood on a bench and looked over the wall. He shook his head and stepped down, said: “Faber’s gone.”

Kells said: “Maybe we can get through to the next street.”

They went to the other end of the patio and through a gate to a kind of alleyway that led down to Fountain. They went down the alleyway and turned west on Fountain. They went into a drugstore on the corner and Kells drank a Coca-Cola while Borg called a cab.

While they were waiting for the cab Kells bought some aspirin, swallowed two tablets.

Borg said: “That’s just a habit. That junk don’t do you no good.”

Kells nodded absently.

In a little while the cab came along.

Kells and Granquist and Beery, and Borg sat in Kells’ room at the Ambassador.

“Here’s the laugh of the season...” Beery tilted his chair back against the wall. “The apartment at the Miramar was in Fenner’s name. We had the maid service cut out — none of the help ever saw you there...”

Kells finished his drink, put the glass on a table.

Beery went on like a headline: “Fenner is being sought for questioning in connection with the Woodward murder.”

Borg chuckled.

“And there’s a warrant out, for him for Bellmann’s shooting on the strength of the confession they found on Woodward.” Beery tilted his chair forward, reached for his glass. “The Woodward one is being blurbed as ‘The Through the Window Murder.’”

Kells asked: “Who found the body?”

“Some glass from the window fell down into the driveway and somebody went up to find out who was carrying on.”

Granquist said: “There must be something there they can trace to us.” She didn’t look very happy.

Kells glanced at her, grinned at Beery. “Miss Pollyanna G will now recite—”

She interrupted him: “Let’s go, Gerry — please...” She stood up.

Kells said: “Buy us all a drink, baby.”

He went on to Beery: “They’ll probably trace us through Doc Janis — or telephone calls — or something.”

Beery shook his head. “They’ll be tickled to death to hang the whole thing on Fenner.”

“Do you think they’ll be so tickled they’ll drop the case against me entirely?” Granquist turned from the table, came toward them with three tall glasses between her hands.

Kells said: “Shep and I will find out about that in about a half hour.”

“And we’ll find out what happened at MacAlmon’s after you left.” Beery stood up and took his drink from Granquist.

Someone knocked at the door.

Granquist froze, with a glass held out toward Borg; Beery opened the door and a porter came in.

He smiled, nodded to Kells. “You want your luggage to go down sir?”

Kells said: “Yes. The trunk’s to go on the Chief tomorrow night. Put the other stuff where we can load it into a car.”

The porter said: “Yes, sir.” He tilted the trunk and dragged it out through the door. Beery went back and sat down.

Borg had taken his drink from Granquist. He said: “What I want to know is how the hell am I going to get my automobile.”

Kells turned from the desk. “Will you please stop wailing about that wreck?” he said. He held out a singly folded sheaf of bills and Borg reached up and took it.

Kells went back to his chair, sat down and tossed another sheaf of bills in Beery’s lap.

Beery looked down at it a moment, and then he picked it up and stuck it in his pocket, said: “Thanks, Gerry.”

Granquist gave Kells one of the tall glasses. “Stirrup cup.”

They all drank.

The porter came back into the room and loaded himself down with hand luggage, went out.

Kells said: “We’re all in a swell spot. The baby here” — he nodded toward Granquist — “is still wanted for Bellmann’s murder — maybe. Shep and I have got to go down and okay our signatures on Fenner’s confession — and maybe they’ll want to talk to me about Woodward, or what happened at MacAlmon’s, and if there’s been any squawk from MacAlmon’s they’ll be looking for Fat.” He grinned at Borg.

Beery took a long envelope out of his inside coat pocket, turned it over several times on his lap. “If this doesn’t square any beef they can figure,” he said, “I’m a watchmaker.”

The porter came back into the room for the last of the hand luggage. They all finished their drinks and went out to the elevator, down to the cab stand.

They took two cabs. Kells and Beery got into the first one; Granquist and Borg got into another, and all the hand luggage was put in with them. Kells told the driver of the second cab to keep about a half-block behind them when they stopped downtown.

Then he went back to the other cab and got in with Beery and said: “Police Station.”

Beery signed the affidavit and pushed it across the desk to Kells.

Captain Larson blew his nose. He said: “You understand you both will be witnesses for the state when we get Fenner?”

Kells nodded.

“An’ this Granquist girl — she’s a material witness too.” The captain widened his watery blue eyes at Beery, leaned far back in his swivel chair.

Kells read the affidavit carefully, signed.

Larson said: “What do you know about the Woodward business?”

“Nothing.” Kells put his elbow on the desk, his chin in his hand, stared at Larson expressionlessly. “I lost Fenner’s confession shortly after it was signed — before I could use it. Woodward evidently got hold of it someway and was trying to peddle it back to Fenner.”

“If Fenner was in his place at the Miramar when Woodward was shot, how come he left the confession there?” Larson was looking out the window, spoke as if to himself.

Kells shook his head slowly.

Larson said: “I suppose you know you’re tied up with all this enough for me to hold you.” He said it very quietly, kept looking out the window.

Kells smiled a little, was silent.

Beery leaned across the desk. “Fenner killed Bellmann,” he said. “That’s a swell break for the administration. It’d be even, a better break if all the dirt on Bellmann that the Coast Guardian published was proven to be fake — wouldn’t it?”

Larson turned from the window. He took a big handkerchief out of his pocket, blew his nose violently, nodded.

Beery took the long envelope out of his pocket and put it on the desk and shoved it slowly across to Larson.

“Here are the originals of the photographs and a couple of letters. You can burn ’em up and then challenge the Coast Guardian people to produce — or you can have ’em doctored so they’ll look like phoneys.”

Larson looked down at the envelope. He asked: “Who are the Coast Guardian people?”

Kells smiled, said: “Me — I’m them.”

Larson slit the envelope, glanced at its contents. Then he put the envelope in the top drawer of his desk and stood up; Kells and Beery stood up, too. Larson reached across the desk and shook hands with them. They went out of the office, downstairs.

Kells said: “It looks like MacAlmon hasn’t squawked — maybe he got away with the junk after all.”

They passed the Reporters’ Room and Beery said: “Wait a minute — maybe I can find out.” He went in and telephoned and came out, shook his head. “Nothing yet.”

Their cab was across the street. Kells looked up First Street to where the second cab had been parked on the other side of Hill Street. It had gone. He stood there a moment looking up First, then he said, “Come on,” and crossed the street, asked the driver: “What happened to the other cab?”

The driver shook his head. “I don’t know. It was there a minute ago an’ then I looked up an’ it was gone.”

Kells got into the cab, stared through the open door at Beery. His face was hard and white. “We were going to an auto-rental joint over on Los Angeles Street and hire a car and driver to take us down to San Bernardino. But she didn’t know the address — they couldn’t have gone over there.”

Beery said: “Maybe they were in a ‘no parking’ zone and had to go around the block.”

A short gray-haired man came out on the steps of the Police Station and called across to Beery: “Telephone, Shep — says it’s important.”

Beery ran across the street and Kells got out of the cab and followed as fast as he could. That wasn’t very fast; his leg was hurting pretty badly. When he went into the Reporters’ Room, Beery was standing at a telephone, jiggling the hook up and down savagely, yelling at the operator to trace the call. Then he said: “All right — hurry it — this is the Police Station,” hung up and looked at Kells.

The man who had called Beery to the phone glanced at them and then got up and went out into the hall.

They looked at one another silently for a moment and Beery sat down on one of the little desks. He said: “They’ve got her.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know — Crotti and MacAlmon I guess. You’re supposed to do business with MacAlmon...”

“What do you mean, business?” Kells was standing by one of the windows, his mouth curved in a hard and mirthless grin.

“They want their hundred and fifteen, and they want it quick. I don’t know who I talked to — I couldn’t place the voice. He said the price goes up twenty-five grand a day — and they’ll send you one of her teeth every day, just to remind you...”

Kells laughed. He looked out the window and laughed without moving his head, and the sound was cold and dry and rattling. He said: “To hell with it. Where did those saps get the idea she means that much to me? All she’s given me is a lot of grief — I don’t want any part of her.” Beery sat staring at Kells with a very faint smile on his lips. “I’m in the clear — I’ve got mine. I’m going.” Kells went unsteadily toward the door, and then he turned and held out his hand. Beery stood up and took his hand and shook it gravely.

Kells said: “Why, goddamn it, Shep — she’s double-crossed me a half dozen times. How do I know this isn’t another one of those Scandinavian gags? She was Crotti’s gal in the first place...”

Beery nodded slowly. He said: “Sure.”

Kells turned again toward the door. He took two or three steps and then he turned again and limped wearily over to one of the desks, sat down. He sat there a little while staring into space.

Then he said: “See if you can get MacAlmon, Shep.”

Beery smiled, picked up the phone.

There were six men in MacAlmon’s big living room at the Villa Dora. Crotti sat sidewise at a desk against one wall, leaned with one elbow on the big pink blotter that covered the desk. His thick red lower lip was thrust out, curved up at the corners in a fixed and meaningless smile.

There were two men sitting in straight-backed chairs on the other side of the room. One was Max Hesse. He was fat, ruddy-cheeked, blond; his suit looked as if it might have been cut out of a horse blanket. The other man was dark and slight. He fidgeted a great deal. He had been introduced simply as Carl. Kells sat in one of the big armchairs near the central table and Beery sat on the edge of the table.

MacAlmon paced from the door to the table, back again. Kells said: “Certainly not. You haven’t got Granquist here — I haven’t got the dough. Turn her over to me in the open and without any finaygling and you can send anyone you want to a spot I’ll give them, with an order from me. They can call you with an okay when they get the money. Then-we’ll walk.” Crotti moved his fixed smile from MacAlmon to Kells. He said: “You are very careful.” The soft slurred impediment in his speech made it sound like a whisper.

Kells nodded without speaking, without looking at him. Hesse laughed, a high dry cackle.

MacAlmon glanced at Crotti, then stopped his pacing, spoke to Kells: “She is here.” He raised his eyes to the balcony that ran across half one side of the room. He called: “Shorty.”

One of the three doors on the balcony opened and a squat over-dressed Filipino came out and leaned on the balustrade. He tipped his bright green velours hat to the back of his head, stared coldly, expressionlessly at MacAlmon. MacAlmon said: “Bring her down.” The Filipino went back into the room and then came into the doorway with Granquist.

Her hair was loose, hung in straw-colored and angular disorder over her shoulders. Her eyes were wide, unseeing. A white silk handkerchief had been stuffed into her mouth, and her hands were knotted behind her back.

Kells said: “Take that god-damned gag out of her mouth.” He spoke almost without moving his lips.

Beery stood up.

“I am very sorry.” Crotti spoke sidewise to Kells. “She raised a lot of hell...” He nodded to the Filipino.

The Filipino reached up delicately and flicked the handkerchief out of her mouth by one corner. She caught her breath sharply; her eyes rolled up whitely for a second then she closed them and swayed sideways with one hip against the balustrade.

Kells stood up slowly.

Crotti said: “Sit down.”

Granquist opened her eyes and turned her head slowly and looked down at Kells. She opened her mouth a little and tried to speak. Then the Filipino took her arm and guided her down the stair, to a low chair between Kells and Crotti. She sank down into it, and the Filipino took a little knife out of his pocket and reached behind her and cut the twisted cord that held her hands. She leaned back and put her hands up to her face.

MacAlmon walked to the door and back. Crotti asked: “How do you feel, sister?” Granquist didn’t move or show in any way that she had heard.

Kells sat down in the big chair, and Beery sat down again on the edge of the table.

Kells took a thin black card case out of his pocket and removed a card and spoke over his shoulder, to Beery: “Got a pencil?”

MacAlmon had come back from the door and was standing near Kells. He took a silver pencil out of his vest pocket, handed it to him. Hesse got up and went out into the kitchen and came back with a glass of water and put it down on the arm of Granquist’s chair. He tapped her shoulder, smiled down at her. She took her hands away from her face a moment and stared blankly up at him, then she put her hands back over her eyes.

“How many men have you got outside?” Kells glanced at Crotti. Crotti wasn’t smiling any more. His wide-set eyes were very serious.

He said: “Two — one car.” He took a dark green cigar out of his breast pocket, bit off the end, lighted it.

Kells was watching him, smiling faintly. Crotti looked up from lighting his cigar, nodded slowly, emphatically.

Hesse said: “I’ve got just my chauffeur — he is waiting...” Kells put the card down on the arm of his chair, scribbled something on it. He said: “You can send Carl, here” — he jerked his head toward the slight nervous man — “and whoever’s outside after the dough. Berry will go along and tell ’em where to go.” He was looking at Carl. “When you’re paid off, Beery will call us here and you can okay it for your boss.” He nodded at Crotti.

Crotti was smiling again. He said: “All right.”

Carl got up and came over to pick up the card. Beery was at the telephone; he made a note of the number.

Kells went on: “Maybe the spick had better go along too.” The Filipino looked at him coldly. Crotti shook his head.

Kells grinned, shrugged.

He said: “I’ll see you later, Shep.” Beery nodded and put on his hat, went to the door with Carl.

They went out.

Kells called to Berry as he was closing the door: “Tell that cab driver to sit on it — we’ll be out in a little while.”

MacAlmon went to a wall switch, snapped on several more lights. Then he went over and lay down on a wide divan under the big front windows. The drapes were tightly drawn.

Kells glanced at the tall clock in one corner. It was seven-fifty.

Hesse had taken MacAlmon’s place at pacing up and down the floor.

Kells got up and limped to Granquist’s chair, sat down on one arm of it and leaned close to her with his arm on her shoulder.

She whispered, “Gerry — I’m so sorry,” without looking at him.

“Shut up, baby.” He smiled down at her and pushed her hands gently down from her face.

“How’s your leg?”

He said: “Swell.” He patted his leg gingerly with one hand.

She moved her head over against his side. “It happened so damned quick,” she said — “I mean quickly. They pulled up alongside of us and two of them got into the cab and stuck a rod into the driver and me and we came out here. Borg jumped out as soon as he saw them and ran down First Street — the car they came up in went after him...”

Kells said: “He got away — he was waiting for us at the corner below the station. He’s got the hundred and fifteen down at a little hotel on Melrose. That’s where Shep’s taking Crotti’s boys...”

Granquist sighed, whispered: “That’s a lot of money.” Kells shook his head slowly. “That’s the first really illegitimate pass we’ve made — maybe we didn’t deserve it.” He rubbed his forehead hard. “What happened to the cab with our stuff in it?”

“It’s out in the driveway. They sapped the driver — he’s upstairs sleeping it off.”

They were silent a little while and then Kells said: “We forgot to send back the car we rented from the Miramar — remind me to do that as soon as we can.”

“Uh huh.” Granquist’s voice was muffled. Kells got up and went into the kitchen. He tried the back door, but it was locked and there was no key in it. When he came back Crotti had straightened around at the desk, was bent over it reading a paper.

Kells asked: “How’s the fella my fat friend popped this afternoon?”

Crotti turned his head, nodded. “He’s all right.” The phone rang and Kells answered it. MacAlmon swung up to sit on the edge of the divan. Crotti turned slowly in his chair toward Kells. Hesse stopped near the door. The Filipino was tilted back in a chair near the stairway — that led up to the balcony and the room upstairs; his hat was pulled down over his eyes and he did not move.

Kells said, “Yes, Shep,” into the telephone. He listened a little while and his face was cold and hard, his eyes were heavy. Then he said, “All right,” and hung up the receiver.

He spoke, more to Granquist than to any of the rest of them: “Borg’s gone.”

Granquist leaned forward slowly. Hesse said: “Who’s Borg?”

“The guy who’s got your money.” Kells smiled slowly at Hesse. Then he glanced at the Filipino and there was a black automatic in the Filipino’s hand. He was still tilted back against the wall and his hat almost covered his eyes.

Crotti stood up. He moved a little toward Kells and then stood very straight and stared at Kells and the muscles of his deeply lined white face twitched a little. He shook his head almost imperceptibly at the Filipino.

He said slowly: “No — I will do it myself, Shorty.” He put his hand to his side under the arm, under his coat, and took out a curiously shaped German revolver. He held it down straight at his side for a moment and then raised it toward Kells. He raised it as if he would like to be raising it very slowly and deliberately, but couldn’t; he raised it very swiftly.

Kells’ shoulders were hunched together a little. His chin was in and he looked at Crotti’s feet and his eyes were almost closed. Granquist stood up and her face was dead white, her hands were clawed in front of her body. She made no sound.

Then there was a sharp crashing roar. It beat twice, filled the room with dull sound.

Kells still stood with his shoulders a little together, his eyes almost closed.

Crotti swayed once to the left. His expression was querulous, worried; the revolver fell from his hand, clattered on the floor. One of his legs gave way slowly and he slipped down on one knee, fell slowly heavily forward on his face.

Kells turned his head swiftly, looked up. Borg was grinning down at him from the balcony; the short blunt blue revolver was lisping smoke in his hand. The Filipino was bent over, holding his wrist between his hand and knees. He whirled slowly on one foot — his hat had fallen off and his broad flat face was twisted with pain.

Borg said: “By God! Just like they do in the movies.” Hesse was at the door.

Borg swung the revolver around toward him, said: “Wait a minute.”

MacAlmon hadn’t moved. He was still sitting on the edge of the divan, staring at Crotti. Kells said: “Let’s go.”

They stopped at a drugstore near Sixth and Normandie. Borg pulled up ahead of them in the other cab, and he and the driver transferred Kells’ luggage to the one cab.

Kells said to the driver: “You can call up and report where this cab is if you want to.” He gestured toward the second cab. “The driver is out at the joint we just left — Apartment L.”

Borg said: “Maybe. They’re probably all out of there by now.”

“They wouldn’t take the driver.”

“They might — he could testify against ’em.” Kells and the driver went into the drugstore to telephone.

Kells called Beery at home, said: “Swell, Shep... Did you have any trouble getting away?... That’s fine... Borg got to worrying about giving all that dough back so he ducked over to MacAlmon’s place and climbed in a window... Uh huh. The crazy bastard damn near got me the works, but if he hadn’t been there I wouldn’t be here — so what? I don’t know whether to give him a punch in the nose or a bonus... I have an idea Crotti would’ve tried to smack me down whether Borg had been there to put the cash on the line or not, I don’t think he liked me very well... So long, Shep, and good luck — I’ll send you a postcard.”

He hung up and went out and got into the cab with Granquist and Borg.

The driver turned around, asked: “Where to?”

“How’d you like to make a long haul?” Kells glanced at Granquist, smiled at the driver.

The driver said: “Sure. The longer the better.”

Kells said: “San Bernardino.” He leaned back and closed his eyes.