I'll Get You for This

1

THE Martello Hotel, Key West, overlooked the Atlantic Ocean. From our private balcony, shaded by a green and white awning, we could look down at the Roosevelt Boulevard, which was almost deserted; houses were shuttered and dogs slept on the sidewalks. It was noon, and the heat was fierce. Away to our right we could see low emerald islands in a shimmering, painted sea beneath high-piled lavender clouds. Steamers and other craft worked their way through the old Nor’west Channel, a chartered course taken for centuries.

Wearing trunks, sun-glasses and sandals, I lolled in a wicker arm-chair. A highball, clinking with ice, stood on the chair arm. I relaxed in the heat, stared with narrowed, impatient eyes out to sea.

Miss Wonderly sat by my side. She had on a white swim-suit that clung to her curves like a nervous mountaineer rounding Devil’s Corner. A straw hat, the size of a cartwheel, shaded her face. A magazine lay on her lap.

Minutes went past. I moved slightly to reach my cigarettes. She patted my hand as I picked up my lighter. I smiled at her.

“Pretty nice, isn’t it?” I said.

She nodded, sighed, took off her hat. Her soft, honey-coloured hair fell about her shoulders. She looked pretty nice herself.

We had been at the hotel for five days. The jail break was a distant nightmare. We didn’t talk about it. For the first two or three days, Miss Wonderly had been in a bad shape. She had bad nights, bad dreams. She was scared to leave the hotel, scared ii someone came into the room. Hetty and I hadn’t left her for a moment. Hetty had been wonderful. She was with us now.

We had taken Miss Wonderly from the jail straight to Tim’s boat. Hetty, Tim and I had gone with her, and we had somehow managed to slip through the cordon Killeano had flung round the coast and reached Key West. Tim had gone back to Paradise Palms the following morning with the boat.

friendliness, was a good spot for convalescing. Miss Wonderly had picked up faster than I had hoped. Now she was almost normal.

“All right, kid?” I asked, smiling at her.

“Yes,” she said, stretching. “And you?”

“Sure, this is much more like the vacation I was hoping to find in Paradise Palms.”

“How long shall we stay here?” she asked, suddenly, abruptly.

I glanced at her. “There’s no hurry,” I said. “I want to get you well. We can stay here as long as you like.”

She turned on her side so she could watch me.

“What’s going to happen to us?” she asked, giving me her hand.

I frowned. “Happen? What should happen?”

“Darling, perhaps I haven’t the right to ask, but is it going on between you and me?” Her face flushed.

“Do you want it to go on?” I asked, smiling at her. “I’m not much of a guy to go places with.”

“I could stand it if you could,” she said seriously.

“I’m crazy about you,” I told her, “but I don’t know how you would fit in with my kind of life. You see, I haven’t learned to settle down. I can’t imagine myself settling down. It wouldn’t be much of a life for you.”

She looked down at our hands, joined together.

“You’re going back there, aren’t you?” she said,

“Back where?” I asked sharply.

“Please, darling,” she said, gripping my hands. “Don’t be like that. You are going back there.”

“You mustn’t worry,” I said, smiling at her. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“But you will, when Tim comes. You’re waiting for Tim, aren’t you?”

“Well, yes,” I said, looking out to sea. “I’m waiting for Tim.”

“And when he comes, you’ll go back with him?”

“I might.”

“You will.”

“I might,” I repeated. “I don’t know. It depends what’s happened.”

She gripped my hand hard.

“Darling, please don’t go back. I didn’t think we would get away. When I was in that awful jail I thought I should never see you again. I thought they would catch you and you’d be hurt. But we did get away, and I have you with me. It would be wicked to put all this in danger again, wouldn’t it?”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I have a job to finish. I like to dot my i’s and cross my t’s. It’s the way I’m made.”

“No, it isn’t,” she said. “No one’s made like that.” I am.

“Darling—don’t do this.” Her hands trembled in mine. “Let it go—please—this time…”

I shook my head slightly.

She took her hands away. “You and your pride,” she said, her voice suddenly hard, angry. “You don’t care about this. You don’t care about us.” She drew in a deep breath, burst out, “You’ve seen too many gangster pictures—that’s what’s wrong with you.”

“It’s not like that,” I said.

“Yes, it is,” she said. Her voice was now elaborately controlled. “Yon want revenge. You think Killeano has crowded you, and you have to shake your reputation in his face. You can’t resist doing that. You like long chances. You think it’s big and smart to go back alone against that mob who stop at nothing. Just because Bogart and Cagney do it for a living, you have to do it too.”

I took a pull at my highball, shook my head.

“It wasn’t as if they beat you, burnt you with cigarettes, took off your clothes and paraded you before a crowd of grinning prison guards,” she went on, her voice low. “They didn’t come into your cell at night, did they ? You didn’t have a crazy woman whispering through the bars at you—awful, filthy whispering …”

“Honey…”

“Well, did you? I’m the one who suffered, not you. I don’t want revenge. I want you. I don’t want anything or anyone but you. I’m out of it. I’m glad to be out of it. God! I’m glad to be out of it. But you want to go back. You want to fight them. You want to avenge me. But I don’t want to be avenged.” Her voice broke suddenly. “Darling—can’t you think of me a little—can’t you let this one thing go—for me? For us?”

I patted her arm, stood up.

There was a long silence, then I heard her get up. She came and stood by my side, slipped her arm through mine.

“Was that what you meant when you said I wouldn’t fit in with your kind of life?” she asked.

I looked down at her, put my arm round her, pulled her to me. “Yeah,” I said. “I’m not made to be pushed around. I’m sorry, kid, but I’m going back. I said I’d fix Killeano, and I’m going to fix him. I feel a heel doing this to you, but I have to five with myself, and I’d never forgive myself if I let that rat slip through my hands.”

“All right, darling,” she said. “I see how it is. I’m sorry I didn’t understand before. Forgive me?”

I kissed her.

“Darling,” she said after a while, “do you want me to wait for you?”

I stared at her. “You’re certainly going to wait for me,” I said.

She shook her head. “Not certainly,” she said. “I’ll wait, on one condition. Otherwise I won’t be here when you come back. I mean it.”

“And the condition?”

“You’re not to kill Killeano. Up to now you have defended yourself. If you kill Killeano it will be murder. That mustn’t be. Will you promise?”

“Now, I can’t promise that,” I said “He might get me in spot—”

“That’s different. I mean you’re not to go gunning for him. If he attacks you, then that’s different. But you’re not to hunt him down and shoot him as you have been planning to do.”

“Okay,” I said. “I promise.”

I held her close, then suddenly I felt her back stiffen. I looked over my shoulder.

Tim’s boat was not more than a mile out to sea. He was coming fast.

2

Davis, Tim and I sat around the table in Tim’s sitting-room, a bottle of Scotch within reach, full glasses in our hands.

Davis had just come in. It was early evening, and Tim and I hadn’t been back long from Key West.

“I’ve been busy,” Davis said, grinning at me, “but before I sound off, how’s the kid?”

“She’s all right,” I said. “They gave her hell in that jail, but she didn’t lie down under it. She’s fine now.”

Davis looked across at Tim, who shrugged.

“Of course, she didn’t want me to come back,” I said, rubbing my jaw, “but she’ll get over that too.”

“Well, so long as she’s okay,” Davis said, combing his hair and looking puzzled, “that’s swell.”

Tim said, “The trouble with this guy is he won’t leave trouble alone. There was a sweet scene when Hetty heard he was coming back—”

“All right,” I interrupted curtly. “Let’s skip the domestic details. What’s new?”

“Plenty,” Davis said, lighting a cigarette. “Flaggerty’s dead for a start. Howja like that? He was killed by one of the convicts: cracked his skull with an axe.”

“That’s one less for me to bother about,” I said.

“Yeah. And here’s a juicy morsel. Killeano’s taken over Flaggerty’s job. He won’t release the jail break to the press. I guess it’s too close to the election for bad news to be told to the trusting public.”

“What happened to Mitchell?”

“He skipped out. I saw him before he went, and he gave me the whole story. I hand it to you, pal. It was a pretty smooth effort. I wrote it up, but the editor killed it after consulting Killeano. The public doesn’t know a thing about it.”

“And Maxison?”

“He managed to keep his nose clean, but only just. Laura supported his story, and after sweating him, Killeano turned him loose. He’s back at work now, but, I must say, he looks like a fugitive from the Lost Horizon. There’s one thing you ought to know. They’ve turned up Brodey’s body.”

“He’s dead?” I said sharply.

“Yeah. He was found at Dayden Beach. Your Luger by his side. Guess who killed him?”

“I know,” I said, clenching my fists. “So I’m wanted for three murders now?”

“You sure are,” Davis said, looking smug.

“Too bad,” I said, took a drink and eyed him over. “What else?”

“That’s all the topical news,” he said, reached inside his pocket and took out a five-dollar bill. He tossed it over to me. “Picked that up at the Casino a couple of nights back.”

I turned the note over, held it up to the light. It looked all right to me.

“So what?”

“It’s a dud.”

I stared at the note again. It still looked fine to me.

“Sure?”

“Yeah. I had it checked by my bank. They say it’s a first-class job, but it’s a dud all right.”

“I’ll say it’s a first-class job,” I said. “You got it from the Casino?”

He nodded. “It was with two other fives I won. They were all right; this a phoney.”

“W ell, that’s something,” I said, and slipped the note into my pocket.

“Hey, I want a good one in return,” Davis said, alarmed. “And while we are on the important subject of money, you also owe me a hundred bucks.”

“I do?”

“Yeah. I’ve been spending your money. Guess what. I’ve hired a private dick to dig up dirt on your pals. Howja like that?”

“You did? That’s a smart idea. Did he find anything?”

“Did he—hell!” Davis rubbed his hands gleefully, “it wasn’t such a dumb idea. One thing he did find out was that cat-house you’re interested in bums five times the electricity it did two years ago. That anything?”

“Only if it means there’s been some electrical equipment installed.”

“That’s the way I figured it. It’d be a swell hide-out for a coining plant, wouldn’t it?”

“All right,” I said. “What else?”

“Don’t rush us,” Davis said, grinning. “This dick ain’t been on the job a couple of days. He’s turned up something on Gomez if he interests you.”

“Gomez?” I said, frowning. “I don’t know where I can fit him in.”

“Well, let’s skip Gomez then.”

“What did he find out?”

“Gomez runs human freight into Cuba.”

I studied my finger-nails. “Go on,” I said.

“That’s it. He does it in a big way. He has three boats, a . bunch of boys working for him, and he gets a thousand dollars a head.”

“Who’s he carrying?”

“The revolution boys. There’s a lot of traffic going on between this coast and Cuba. He’s smuggling in guns as well. From what I hear there’ll be another bust-up in Cuba before long.”

“Too bad for him if Killeano pinched one of his boats,” I said, thoughtfully.

“He ain’t likely to,” Davis said. “He must be giving Gomez plenty of protection.”

“But suppose Killeano in a fit of zeal pinched Gomez’s boat, what do you think Gomez would do?”

“I know damn well what he’d do. He’d take a crack at Killeano,” Davis said, eyeing me doubtfully. “Why should Killeano have a fit of zeal?”

“He’s just taken over the police department; the election is close. It’d be a good publicity stunt to make a sudden clean-up on that racket—especially if the press gave him a spread.”

Davis’s fat face creased. “Now what the hell are you cooking up?”

“Where does Gomez keep his boats?”

“Search me,” Davis returned, looking at Tim and then at me. “This dick—Clairbold’s his name (hell of a name, ain’t it?)—fell over the dirt accidentally. He wasn’t looking for it. He was sniffing around in Lois’s apartment trying to find any letters Killeano might have written to Lois. It was my idea. I reckoned we could crucify Killeano if we could get hold of some of his mushy letters and print them. Clairbold was digging around in Lois’s bedroom when Gomez and another guy marched into the outer room. Clairbold ducks behind a curtain and hears Gomez planning to run a bunch of nationals over to Cuba tonight, and to bring another bunch back the night after.”

I nodded. “Nice work.” I said. “Did he find any letters?”

“No. He skipped out as soon as Gomez quit. He didn’t think it was too healthy to hang around.”

“This might develop, Jed,” I said. “It’s worth going after. Can you get hold of the dick?”

“Yeah. Can get him now if you want him.”

“Do that. Tell him to hook himself on to Gomez and follow him wherever he goes. I want to find out where Gomez keeps his boats, and where he’ll land those Cubans tonight. Tell him to call back here. We’ll wait.”

Davis nodded, went over to the telephone.

Tim eyed me thoughtfully. “Can’t see where this is getting you,” he said.

I moved impatiently. “I’m getting soft,” I said. “Know what that kid of mine made me promise?”

He shook his head.

“I wouldn’t kill Killeano. Imagine. She thought I was going straight into his office and was going to fill him full of lead. Can you beat that?”

“Well, weren’t you?” Tim asked, a sly grin in his eyes.

“That was the general idea,” I said, scowling, “but how was I to know she’d know?”

“So you’re not going to fix Killeano?” Tim said, surprised. “Then why come back here?”

“I promised I wouldn’t kill him, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to fix him,” I said grimly. “I have to work it differently now. It’ll take longer, but it’ll work out the same way- I have to find someone else to do it for me: Gomez, for instance.”

Davis came back from the telephone.

“Clairbold says Gomez is at the jai alai court right now. He reckons Gomez will make the trip after the game.”

“Okay,” I said.

“He’ll come over here after he’s seen Gomez off,” Davis said. “You’ll like this guy. He’s good.”

I put my feet on the table. “Stick around,” I said. “We may be busy in a little while.”

“Not me,” Davis said hurriedly. “I know when you’re planning to start something. I smell it in the air. Me—I’m going home.”

I laughed. “Suit yourself,” I said, handing him a hundred-dollar note and a five spot. “You’ll have a fine spread for your front page in a day or so.”

“Don’t tell me,” Davis said with an exaggerated shudder. “Let it come as a surprise.”

3

Clairbold was a young blond man in a brown suit and a cocoa-coloured straw hat with a brown and blue tropical band. He followed Tim into the sitting-room, and looked at me the way a morbid sightseer looks at a messy street accident.

I eyed him over. He was very young. His face was pink and plump, and the blond beard on his chin was carelessly shaved. His eyes were inquisitive and a little scared. His teeth projected, giving him a look of a young, amiable rabbit. He didn’t look a shamus; that, of course, was in his favour.

“Park your fanny,” I said, waving to a chair, “and have a drink.”

He edged into the chair as if it was a bear-trap. Then he took off his hat, held it on his knees. His blond hair was slicked down, parted in the middle.

“How do you like working for me ?” I asked, pushing the bottle of Scotch and a glass towards him.

“I like it fine, Mr. Cain,” he said nervously; shook his head at the bottle. “No, thank you. I don’t use it.”

“You mean you don’t drink?”

“Not in my profession,” he returned seriously. “Alcohol dulls one’s powers of observation.”

I nodded gravely. “So it does,” I said. “How long have you been in this racket ?”

“You mean how long have I been a private investigator?” he asked, blushing. “Well, not long.” He looked at me earnestly. “As a matter of fact, Mr. Cain, I—this is my first big job.”

“Well, you’re doing fine,” I said. “It doesn’t worry you to work for me ?” I grinned to soften the blow, added, “I’m wanted for three murders.”

He stared at his hat, twisted it, put it on the table. “My view of the matter, Mr. Cain, is you’ve been unjustly accused by an unscrupulous person,” he said.

I blinked. “You really think that?” I said, glancing at Tim whose mouth had fallen open.

“Oh yes,” Clairbold said. “I’ve studied the facts very closely. You see, i have my reputation to consider. It wouldn’t do for me to work for anyone guilty of murder. I have satisfied myself that you are an innocent party to the murders.”

“Pity there aren’t more like you around,” I said. “Well, you have something to tell me, haven’t you?”

“Yes. I have a full report here,” he said, drawing a sheaf of papers from his pocket.

I hurriedly waved them away. “Just tell me,” I said. “Reading isn’t my strong suit.”

He squared his shoulders and fixing his eyes on the wall behind my head, he said, “At ninethirty p.m. this evening, I received instructions from Mr. Davis to shadow Juan Gomez, a jai alai player, suspected of running Cuban nationals between this coast and Havana.”

I ran my fingers through my hair, looked at Tim, shook my head.

Clairbold went straight on. “I took up a convenient position where I could observe Gomez without being seen. He was playing on the jai alai court at the time. At the end of the game, I waited in my car at the players’ entrance. Gomez eventually appeared with a red-headed woman I identified as Lois Spence. They drove away in a Cadillac.” He paused to look at his report.

“Never mind the licence number,” I said, guessing what he was looking for. “Where did they go?”

He put his report away regretfully. “They took the coast road, and I had no difficulty in following them. The traffic was heavy and I kept two cars behind them. Three miles beyond Dayden Beach there’s a branch road that goes down to the sea. They took this road, and I thought it unwise to follow. My headlights would have revealed my presence. I left my car and followed on foot. At the end of the road I found the Cadillac had been parked, and I observed Gomez and Miss Spence walking along the beach in an easterly direction. There was no cover, and it was impossible to go after them without being seen. Fortunately, they did not go far, and I was able to watch them from behind the Cadillac. They waited for several minutes, then a boat, out at sea, began signalling. Gomez returned the signals with a flash-light, and the boat came in. She was a thirty-footer, painted dark green. She wasn’t equipped with outriggers and had no mast. One of the windshields on the pilot house was broken.” He cleared his throat, holding his hand before his mouth. “I then observed a concrete ramp, cleverly concealed in the sand, had been built out to sea, allowing the boat to come practically up to the beach. The boat tied up to the ramp. Gomez and Miss Spence went aboard.” He paused here, blushed slightly. “My instructions were to find out where the boat was going to. From where I was it was impossible to hear anything. I decided to crawl to the boat, although the risk of detection was considerable. However, I succeeded.”

I stared at him, imagining him crawling over the white moonlit sand towards a bunch of cutthroats who’d’ve rubbed him out without a thought. My estimation of him went up sharply.

“That was a nervy thing to have done,” I said, and meant it.

The blush turned to a deep scarlet. “Well, I don’t know,” he said, rubbing his cheek with his hand. “You see, I’ve had a thorough training.” He hesitated, then blurted out: “Although the Ohio School of Detection teaches through the mail, it doesn’t leave anything to chance. They impressed on me that the art of stalking was a pretty useful thing to learn. I’d practised it quite a bit in my room.”

Tim choked, coughed, looked away. I scowled at him.

“Go on,” I said.

“I succeeded in reaching the concrete ramp, and hid behind it,” Clairbold continued, as if it was just another daily task set by the Ohio School of Detection. “After a while Gomez and Miss Spence came on deck, and I heard what they said. He told her he would leave Havana at nine o’clock tomorrow night, drop his cargo at Pigeon Key, and come back here. She arranged to meet him, and then she left the boat. She drove away in the Cadillac. After further delay, another car arrived and four men, obviously Cubans, went on board.”

“What were you doing all this time?” I asked, staring at him.

“I had dug myself a kind of fox-hole in the sand,” he explained, “and buried myself. I kept a newspaper I had with me over my face so I could breathe, see and hear. It was an idea I got from the chapter in my course on watching suspected people in sandy districts.” He brooded for a moment, said: “It’s a very satisfactory course. I—I recommend it.”

I blew out my cheeks. “It certainly thinks of everything,” I said.

“The boat pulled away from the ramp and headed for Havana. I gave it time to clear and then I came back here to report,” he concluded.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” I said.

He looked up. “I—I hope you’re satisfied, Mr. Cain,” he said anxiously.

“I’ll say I am,” I told him. “Now look, young fellow, you ought to be more careful. This is a tough mob, and you’re taking too many risks. You’ve done a swell job, but I don’t want to lose you.”

He smiled. “Oh, I can take care of myself, Mr. Cain,” he assured me. “I have learned boxing, and I can shoot.”

I looked him over and wondered where he had left his muscles. Probably at home, I thought. He certainly hadn’t brought them with him. “Did you learn boxing and shooting through the mail too?” I asked gently.

He blushed. “Well, yes. I haven’t had a chance yet to try any of it out, but I understand the theory pretty well.”

This time I didn’t dare look at Tim. I took out my wallet, pushed over two hundred dollar bills, “That’s for being a smart guy,” I said. “Stick around, and I’ll have something more for you before long.”

His eyes lit up and he picked up the notes eagerly.

“I’m glad you’re satisfied, Mr. Cain,” he said. “This means a lot to me “ He hesitated, plunged on: “If it’s all right with you, I thought I might investigate this—er—house of ill-fame. Of course, I don’t like going to such a place, but it’s part of my job, isn’t it?” He eyed me hopefully, seriously.

“It is,” I said gravely.

“Then you think I might investigate there?”

“I think it’s a good idea,” I said, nodding. “Only be careful some hussie doesn’t make a play for you.”

He blushed. “I’m not susceptible to women,” he said earnestly. “It’s part of my training to resist temptation.”

I pulled at my nose. “Is there a chapter on that too?” I asked blankly.

“Oh yes,” he said. “They go very fully into that subject in a chapter called ‘Sex and the Selfcontrolled Man’.”

I whistled. “I’d like to read that,” I said. “Maybe I’d get something out of it too.”

He said he’d be glad to lend it to me any time, got to his feet and prepared to duck out.

“Just a second,” I said, pointing to his cocoa-coloured hat “Don’t think I’m being critical, but is it wise to wear a lid like that? There’s nothing wrong with the hat itself. It’s a pretty snappy effort, but if you’re following anyone, isn’t it a little conspicuous? You can see it a mile off.”

He positively beamed.

“That’s the idea, Mr. Cain,” he said. “This is a special line that goes with the course. Actually, it’s a trick hat.” He took the cocoa-coloured atrocity off his head, whipped off the band, gave the hat a shake and it turned inside out. He reversed the band. He now had a fawn hat with a red and yellow striped band. “Smart, isn’t it?” he said. “You see, it keeps people guessing. I personally think the hat is worth the money I paid for the whole course. It’s included in the charge.”

When he had gone, Tim said, “For crying out loud!” He reached for the Scotch and gave himself a generous shot. He shoved the bottle over to me. “Here, buck yourself up with this.”

I waved the bottle away. “Not for me,” I said. “I gotta watch my powers of observation.”

4

Early the next morning, Tim and I took a trip to Miami, some seventy miles from Paradise

Palms. We went in Tim’s Mercury convertible, and the trip didn’t take us more than ninety minutes.

I called in on the Federal Field Office, leaving Tim in the car outside.

The Federal Agent was named Jack Hoskiss. He was a big, beefy guy, with a shock of blueblack hair, a big fleshy face and humorous eyes. He stood up behind his desk, offered a moist hand.

I didn’t beat about the bush. “I’m Chester Cain,” I said.

He nodded, said he recognized me, and what could he do?

I stared at him. “I’m supposed to have killed three guys,” I reminded him. “Don’t you want to make anything of it?”

He shook his head. “When Paradise Palms Police Department call us in, we’ll do something about it,” he said, offering me a cigar. “Right now, it’s off our beat.”

I eyed him over. “Your job is to hold me anyway,” I said.

“Don’t make it hard for yourself,” he returned, grinning. “You don t have to tell me my job. We have an idea what you’re after.” He glanced out of the window, smiled to himself. “We might be after the same thing.”

I grinned. “That guy Killeano is nobody’s love child.”

“It beats me why he hasn’t yet made a false move,” Hoskiss said. “We’ve been watching him for months, but so far he’s been smart. I’d like to get something on him.”

“So would I,” I said, and slid the five-dollar bill Davis had given me across the desk. “That might interest you.”

He looked at it without picking it up, looked at me. raised his eyebrows.

“What’s the idea?”

“Look at it. It won’t bite.”

He picked it up, examined it. Then he sat up, bringing his chair straight with a crash. He was interested all right.

“Where did you get this?” he snapped.

“Found it,” I said. “There’re a lot floating around Paradise Palms.”

“Yeah,” he said savagely. He opened a drawer, took out a box and produced a bunch of notes. He compared the one I’d given him, grunted, put it in the box with the others. “They’re good, aren’t they?” he said grudgingly. “We’ve been after that gang for months. But up to now we haven’t a lead. No idea where it came from?”

“I might make a guess,” I said.

He waited, but I didn’t enlarge on it.

“Where?” he asked, when he was sure I’d need persuasion.

I drew on the cigar, blew smoke on to the desk. “I have a proposition to discuss with you.”

A thin smile played on his lips. “I thought you might have,” he said, nodding. “Shoot.”

I told him the story from the time I had hit Paradise Palms. I left Mitchell out of it and where Miss Wonderly was, the rest of it I gave him straight.

He sat huddled in his chair, a blank look m his eyes, and listened. When I was through, he whistled soundlessly.

“Why didn’t that fool Herrick come to us?” he said bitterly. “We’d’ve given him all the protection he needed, and helped him clean up. I love these smart guys who hope to surprise us with a completed case.”

“He didn’t come to you, but I have,” I reminded him gently.

He looked me over. “Well, what now?”

“I’m tired of being the fall guy,” I said, flicking ash on the floor. “I’m going to bust Paradise Palms wide open.” I pointed a ringer at him. “That’s why I’ve come to you.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Go on,” he said.

“Two things, both of them Federal business: smuggling aliens into the country and counterfeiting.”

“Where’ll that get you with Killeano?”

I smiled. “That’s my end of it. I’m not giving you all the work to do; just part of it.”

“Go on.”

“Tonight a boat will unload a parcel of Cubans at Pigeon Key. They’ll be leaving Havana around nine o’clock. The boat’s a thirty-footer, painted dark green, no mast, no outriggers, broken windshield in the pilot house. I’ll be glad if you’d take care of it.”

“Sure?”

“Sure, I’m sure. It’s a hot tip.”

“Okay, I’ll take care of it.”

“Another thing. I want Killeano to get the credit for the tip-off. Davis will handle the publicity. Okay with you?”

He frowned. “What’s the idea?”

“Just part of the little plot,” I said. “Is it worth your while playing along with me if I turn over the counterfeiting plant and the boys who work it?”

“It might be,” he said cautiously. “You seem to know a hell of a lot about this business, Cain. Suppose you open out. And don’t think you can use this office to further your own interests, because you can’t.”

“Now you sound just like a cop,” I returned. “Look, I’m giving you a boat full of undesirable Cubans, and I’m going to show you where this dud money comes from. Where’s your gratitude?”

He grinned. “Well, okay,” he said, “but don’t start anything we can’t finish.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” I said. “Come to Paradise Palms on Thursday night. Meet me at 46 Waterside at eleven o’clock and come prepared for trouble. If you can arrange to have some of your boys within reach, so much the better, but they are not to show until trouble starts.”

He stared. “What’s the idea? That joint’s a brothel. Why there?”

I winked at him. “Don’t you ever relax, brother?” I asked as I made for the door..

5

Six o’clock the following morning, Davis came bursting into my bedroom. I woke with a start, grabbed my gun from under my pillow, saw who it was, sank back.

“That’s the way guys meet with accidents,” I said crossly, rubbing my eyes. “What time is it?”

“I like that,” Davis snorted. “I’ve been slaving all through the night and come over here to show you how bright I am, and you talk of accidents.”

I yawned, lit a cigarette, sat up in bed.

“All right,” I said. “Shoot.”

He handed me a copy of the Morning Star.

“It’s all there,” he said proudly. “Careful how you handle it, the print ain’t dry yet. Howja like it ?” He sat on the foot of the bed, breathing heavily, his eyes alight with excitement. “Gawd knows what Killeano will do to the editor when he sees it. Gawd knows what the editor will do to me if he ever finds out Killeano never said a word of what I’ve said he said. But this is the way you wanted it, and you’ve got it that way.”

“My pal,” I said, and read the banner headlines:

CITY ADMINISTRATOR SWOOPS

NEW POLICE CHIEF’S LIGHTNING ATTACK ON ALIEN SMUGGLERS

Mysterious Motor-Launch Sunk by Gunfire

Late last night, Ed. Killeano, Paradise Palms’ City Administrator, in his new capacity of Chief of Police, struck a crippling blow at the Alien smuggling racket.

Too long has this notorious scandal openly flourished along the coast of our fair city. We, representing the citizens of Paradise Palms, are proud to be one of the first to congratulate the new Chief of Police for tackling this racket so courageously and with such speed. It should be remembered that the former Chief of Police made no attempt to suppress the smuggling racket, and it is all the more to Ed. Killeano’s credit that he has taken such prompt action when only being in office a few hours.

In an exclusive interview with the Morning Star, Killeano said that he was determined to clean up Paradise Palms once and for all. “Now I have taken over the job of Chief of Police,” he said, “I am showing no mercy to the racketeers hiding in our City. I am going to smoke them out. Let them be warned. I appeal to my supporters to return me to Office so that I can complete the task I have already begun. This is only a beginning.”

Acting on information from a secret source, the new Chief of Police ordered Coast Guards to seize a mysterious motor-launch operating off Pigeon Key. A desperate battle ensued, and the motor-launch was sunk, but not before some twelve Cuban nationals lost their lives… .

There was a lot more in this vein, photographs of the boat half in and half out of the water, of Killeano and the Coast Guards. It was a nice piece of work, and I told Davis so.

“But wait until Killeano sees it,” he said, scratching his head vigorously. “When he realizes how he’s been committed, he’ll have the shock of his life.”

“I guess he will,” I said, jumping out of bed. “And there isn’t a thing he can do about it. This is terrific propaganda for his election campaign. He daren’t deny he sold Gomez out: not even to Gomez. And if he did, Gomez wouldn’t believe him.”

I scrambled into my clothes.

“Where are you going at this ungodly hour?” Davis demanded. “I’ve never seen such an energetic guy. Me—I’m dead on my feet.”

“Hop into bed, then,” I said. “After that write-up I wouldn’t deny you anything. I have a date with Gomez.”

“Yeah?” Davis said, kicking off his shoes “Where do you think you’ll find him at this hour?”

“With Lois Spence,” I said, making for the door. “If he isn’t there, I can always look at the dame. She interests me.”

He took off his coat and stretched out on the bed. “She interests me too,” he said with a sigh. “But not with that Gomez thug hanging around. He cools my ardour.”

I took Tim’s Mercury convertible, drove out to Lexington Avenue. The night staff were still on duty, and I walked over to the hall porter’s cubby-hole.

“Hello, dad,” I said, smiling at the old boy. “Remember me?”

He remembered me all right. There’s nothing like a little folding money to impress your personality on anyone.

“Yes, sir, “he said, brightening up. “I remember you very well, sir.”

“I thought you would,” I said, and looked round to make sure no one was watching us. I produced a fifty-dollar bill, folded it slowly, giving him ample time to see it, then hid it in my hand.

His eyes started out of his head like organ stops

“Gomez with Miss Spence?” I asked casually.

He nodded. There was nothing casual about his nod.

“Both tucked up together with nothing between them but their dreams?” I went on.

“I wouldn’t know about their dreams, sir,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t think I should want to know about them. Hut they’re up there all right.”

“That’s fine. I’d like to drop in and see them. Kind of surprise them,” I said, eyeing him “Would there be a pass-key to their room within reach?”

He stiffened. “I couldn’t do that, sir,” he said, shocked. “I’d lose my job.”

I looked at the row of keys hanging on hooks behind him.

“Now I wonder which it would be,” I said. “I’d pay fifty bucks for that information, providing you took a short walk after you’ve told me.”

He struggled with his finer feelings, but the fifty bucks made short work of them.

He turned, lifted a key from a hook, put it down on the counter.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he said. “I couldn’t do it. I have my job to consider.”

I slid him the fifty bucks.

“Okay, but you’d better stick to this,” I told him. “If you and I work together much longer, you’ll be buying your own apartment block.”

He snapped up the note, eased his collar, came out of his office.

“If you’ll pardon me,” he said, “I have to check on the mail deliveries.” He hurried across the lobby without looking back.

It didn’t take me longer than it’d take you to blink to pick up the pass-key. I walked over to the elevator, rode up to the fourth floor.

Apartment 466 was silent and in semi-darkness. I pulled my .38, held it in my fist. I had no intention of being jumped by Gomez.

I crossed the sitting-room, wandered into the bedroom.

Gomez and Lois Spence were in bed. He lay on his back; she on her side. Neither of them snored. Neither of them looked particularly attractive.

I sat on the edge of the bed, pinched Lois’s toes. She muttered in her sleep, turned, flung out a white arm, hit Gomez on his beaky nose. He cursed, threw her arm off, sat up. His eyes took me in, and he snapped awake. He didn’t move. The .38 must have looked pretty menacing from where he lay.

“Hello, sportsman,” I said, smiling at him. “How did you like your swim?”

He drew in a deep breath, relaxed back on his pillow. His eyes had that ferocious glare reserved for caged tigers, otherwise he kept surprisingly calm.

“You’ll do this once too often, Cain,” he said, not moving his lips. “What’s the idea?”

“No idea,” I said. “I blew in because I was curious to know how you liked your little dip last night.”

He studied me for a long moment. “I didn’t like it,” he said, at last.

“Something told me you wouldn’t,” I said, grinning. “I must be getting clairvoyant. Well, brother, what are you going to do about it?” Without taking my eyes off him, I pulled out the copy of the Morning Star and handed it to him. “Take a gander at that. Our Ed. has cut himself a nice slice of publicity at your expense, hasn’t he?”

One look at the headlines brought Gomez up on his elbow. He was wearing mauve and white pyjamas. They didn’t suit his sallow complexion. What with one thing and another, he looked like hell. I bet he felt that way too.

His sudden move uncovered Lois. She didn’t seem to have anything on. She grabbed the sheet back, muttered under her breath, turned over.

Not wishing her to miss the fun, I pinched her toes again.

“Cut that out!” she snapped angrily, opened her eyes. She looked at me, stiffened, clutched Gomez. He threw her off, and went on reading the newspaper.

“Hi, Tutz,” I said, smiling at her. “Don’t froth up your cold cream. Me and Juan are in conference.”

She sat up, remembered there were gentlemen present, dived under the bedclothes again.

“What the hell goes on?” she demanded in a voice thick with rage and fright.

“Shut up,” Gomez snarled, and went on reading.

“Chivalry in the twentieth century,” I said sadly. “Never mind. Relax, beautiful, and wait until the great man has read his paper.”

Lois lay back regarding Gomez with glittering, furious eyes.

He got through reading the newspaper, slung it down.

“The rat I” he said, clenching his fists, then remembering I was still with him, went on, “What do you want?”

“Ed. and I don’t get along either,” I said. “I thought you might feel like doing something about it.”

He stared at me for a moment, then lay back. “Such as what?”

“Are you crazy?” Lois demanded furiously. “Why do you let this heel sit on our bed like this? Hit him! Do something!”

Gomez, snarling, slapped her face, got out of bed. “Come into the other room where we can talk,” he said. “Women drive me nuts.”

I looked at the telephone by the bed, shook my head. “This blue-eyed twist might get ideas,” I said. “I’ll keep you both where I can watch you.”

Gomez jerked the extension plug from the wall, picked up the telephone and walked across the room.

“I want to talk,” he said. “She wants to fight. We’ll get nowhere if she’s in on the conversation.”

“I’ll make you pay for this!” Lois stormed. “You can’t talk to me like this, you—you gigolo!”

He stepped to the bed.

“Shut up!” he snarled.

“Well, come on,” I said impatiently. “If you want to talk, let’s talk.”

He glared at Lois for a moment, then joined me at the door. Lois started warming up the room with some fancy cursing, but we shut the door and left her to it.

Gomez sat down in an easy chair in the outer room. He ran his fingers through his long oily hair, eyed me the way a snake eyes its first meal after hibernation, said, “Just where do you figure in all this?”

“Killeano’s coming after you, buddy,” I said, lighting a cigarette. “He knows the only way he can get re-elected is to show the electors that he can handle boys like you. Flaggerty getting knocked off was a break for him. It’s given him a chance to show his power. He’s sold you out. He’ll sell all the other bright boys out too. But you can stop him, if you want to.”

“I can stop him all right,” Gomez said, clenching his fists. “And I don’t want any help or suggestions from you.”

“You boys always work the same way,” I said, shrugging. “You figure you’ll lay for Ed., and fill him full of hot metal. But you won’t get near him. He knows you’ll come gunning for him, and he’ll take precautions. I bet you don’t set eyes on him until after the election; then it’ll be too late.”

Gomez chewed his under-lip, frowning.

“Well, what’s your idea, then?”

“An easy way to fix Killeano would be to call at 46 Waterside between eleven-thirty and twelve tonight,” I said. “Maybe you didn’t know Ed. relaxed in that joint. He has a private room

in the basement, and his mob goes with him. I don’t suppose they’ll worry you much, will they?”

He brooded, then stood up. “If that’s all you can suggest,” he said, “you can beat it. And the next time you snoop into this apartment without being invited, you’ll be carried out feet first.”

“I’m scared,” I said, went to the door, opened it, paused. “If you did find Killeano in that cathouse, it’d look good in the press, wouldn’t it? Jed Davis would print all the dirt you gave him so long as you gave him proof. I can’t see Ed. being re-elected if that kind of news broke on the morning of the election, can you?”

“Get out,” he said.

I went.

6

On the outskirts of Paradise Palms a few tumbled-down huts, side by side, sprawled into the darkness. Further along, standing alone, was the only building of importance.

Over its arched doorway, a sign flickered against the night sky. Forty-six.

I had parked the Mercury convertible in a vacant lot some way back, and I approached the building cautiously, keeping in the shadows. Through the open doorway I could hear dance music. The shuttered windows revealed chinks of light.

A man moved out of the shadows, came towards me. I stopped, waited, my liand on my gun butt.

It was Hoskiss.

“Hi, G-man,” I said. “Seen this morning’s Morning Star?"

“Oh, it’s you,” he said, peering at me. “Yeah, I saw it all light. I bet Killeano’s doing a little thinking.”

“I bet you are too,” I said. “All ready for some relaxation?”

“I’m ready to go in,” he said, eyeing the building dubiously. “But I’d like to know what’s cooking.”

“You will,” I said, “only don’t rush me. How many boys did you bring?”

“Six. That enough?”

“I hope so. Tell ’em to keep out of sight. We may not need them, but if we do, they’ll have plenty on their hand. While they’re waiting they can make themselves useful. I want the telephone in this joint cut off. Can they fix the outside lines?”

“I guess so,” he said. “What’s the idea?”

“I don’t want anyone to tip the cops if trouble starts. We’ll have enough on our hands without a load of corrupt Law busting in on us.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Hoskiss said. He sounded worried.

“After the way I handed you those Cubans I think you might exercise a little faith,” I said.

“You’d make a swell salesman,” Hoskiss said, resigned. “I’ll tell them.”

I waited. After a while he came back.

“They’ll fix it,” he said. “Do we go in?”

“We go in,” I said. “You got a gun?”

“Yeah,” he returned. “I hope you have a permit.”

I grinned, walked to the open door, went in.

Inside, under dim lights, was a bar and a dance floor. In a corner, on a yellow and red carpet, an orchestra of four played: a pianist with kinky hair, a sallow-faced fiddler, a nigger drummer and a blond saxophonist. Behind the bar stood a Cuban.

Several couples moved listlessly around the dance floor. The men looked the type you’d expect to find in a joint like this; the girls danced in their underwear. Each had on a brassiere, silk panties, silk stockings and high-heeled slippers. There was a line of flesh on each girl from breast to hip and from one-third down their thighs to their knees. Some of the girls were quite pretty.

The air in the room was torrid, heavy, humid; a combination of human sweat, dime-a-squirt perfume, gin breath. Paper streamers hung from the ceiling like Spanish moss.

We handed our hats to a Chinese boy, and paused to get our bearings.

I glanced at my wrist-watch. It was ten minutes past eleven.

“For the next twenty minutes, you can relax. At eleven-thirty we start work.”

“Look at those dames,” Hoskiss said, gaping. “So this is what the vice-squad calls work. Say, I might even enjoy myself.” He eyed a tall blonde in sheer black silk underwear, who was leaning against the bar, a bored expression on her face. “I don’t suppose I can come to much harm in twenty minutes. Let’s buy a drink.”

“That’s the worst of bringing a repressed type like you to a joint like this,” I said, grinning. “You’re likely to make a meal of it.”

“I’m not blasé,” he said, heading for the bar.

The blonde watched us come. Her wide, painted mouth smiled. She had good teeth, but when I was close to her, I noticed she had pimples on her back.

“Hello, honey,” she said to Hoskiss as he sailed up.

“Hello yourself, juicy fruit,” he said, draping himself over the bar. “How about rinsing our tonsils together?” He winked at me. “Blondes go for me. It’s my powerful personality.”

“You want to be careful with this guy,” I said to the blonde. “He eats grape-nuts for breakfast every day. You’d be surprised what it does to him.”

The blonde was a little pop-eyed. I guess she thought we were drunk.

The Cuban wiped the counter mechanically, asked us what we would have.

“Let’s start a famine in whisky,” Hoskiss said. “Three triple whiskies, and keep your thumb out of mine.”

The blonde continued to eye us. She couldn’t make up her mind which of us to concentrate on.

“Well, sugar plum,” Hoskiss said, “that’s a nice face and body you’re wearing, but I’d hate to share you with anyone. Isn’t there some frill who’d take care of my boy friend so we can be alone together?”

“Isn’t he big enough to find his own frill?” she asked in a drawling voice. “The joint’s lousy with girls.”

“There you are,” Hoskiss said to me. “Don’t horn in on my discovery. Take a look around. Peach blossom says the girls’ joints are lousy.”

I gaped at him. He was certainly relaxing.

The Cuban shoved the whiskies at us, asked twice their worth.

Hoskiss waved to me.

“This is your party,” he said. He nodded to the Cuban. “My friend will pay. That’s the only reason why I go around with him.”

I slid five bucks to the Cuban. The blonde leaned against me. I smiled. The five spot had decided for her who she was going to be nice to. Hoskiss regarded her sadly.

“You leaning against the wrong man, or did you know?” he said.

“Go bowl a hoop,” she said.

He looked quite cut-up.

“And I thought you cared for me for myself,” he said, shaking his head at her.

She looked at me. “Tell him to go bowl a hoop,” she said. “We don’t want him in our party, do we?”

“The lady wants you to bowl a hoop,” I said to Hoskiss. “Can you oblige her?”

He finished his whisky, sighed.

“Not immediately,” he said, “but don’t let that interfere with your fun. She isn’t the only blonde who’s dipped her head in peroxide. I see a red-head steering my way.”

A red-haired girl came up. She was a trifle plump and her face was heavily powdered and rouged. She had on yellow silk panties.

“Want any help?” she asked the blonde. “Take this cram off our hands,” the blonde said, waving languidly at Hoskiss. “He eats grape-nuts and hasn’t any dough.”

The red-head sniffed. “Haven’t you really any dough, darling?” she asked Hoskiss.

“You bet,” he said. “But I only spend it on red-heads. You’ve arrived at the crucial moment. Have a drink?” The blonde said to me, “Want to dance?” “Go on and dance,” Hoskiss said. “I have my new-found friend to keep me warm.”

I sank my whisky, took the blonde on to the floor. My right hand rested on a bulge of warm flesh above her hip. She turned out to be a good dancer, once I got it into her head that I wanted to dance and not wrestle.

After we’d completed a couple of circuits of the floor, I said, “Who runs this joint?”

Under their heavy coating of blue-black mascara her eyes were surprised.

“What’s it to you?”

“Look, girlie,” I said patiently. “Never mind the cross-talk. I asked who ran this joint. Do you have to make a mystery of it?”

“I guess not,” she said. Her eyes went glassy, blank. I decided she didn’t find me particularly interesting. “Madam runs it. Is that what you want to know?”

“Madam who?”

She sighed. “Durelli. Satisfied?”

“I don’t need to take anything from you,” I said gently. “If you can’t work up a little enthusiasm, I’ll ditch you.”

Her eyes flashed, but she managed to control her temper. “Don’t get sore, honey,” she said. “I want you to have a good tune.”

“That makes two of us,” I said, manoeuvring her so we passed close to Hoskiss. He eyed us over, said in a loud voice to the redhead: “Extraordinary types you get in here. That fellow would look more at home in a cage.” He seemed to be enjoying himself; the red-head too.

“Let’s go upstairs,” the blonde said, suddenly, impatiently. “It’s too hot to dance.”

“Sure,” I said, and we danced over to the door.

I caught Hoskiss’s eye. He looked reproachful.

I winked, waved and followed the blonde out of the room. She ran up a steep flight of stairs, along a passage.

I followed her into a small room furnished with a divan, a cupboard and a carpet.

She stood by the divan, eyed me expectantly.

“You’re not going to be mean, are you, honey?” she said.

I reached inside my pocket, produced three five-dollar bills, dangled them before her.

Her eyes lit up and she smiled. The bored, resigned expression vanished.

“Run along and tell Madam Durelli I want to see her,” I said.

She stared. “What’s the idea?” she demanded, her voice hardening. “Don’t you like me or something?”

“Can’t you earn yourself a little dough without sounding off? I’m offering it you the easy way. Take this and get Madam. Go on, beat it.”

She snatched the money, slipped it into the top of her stocking, went to the door.

“I thought you were a queer fish the moment I saw you,” she said. “Stick around. I’ll get her.”

I sat on the edge of the divan, lit a cigarette, waited.

Minutes dragged by, then I heard a step outside. The door opened and a big. middle-aged woman came in Her lean face was hard, her eyes jet-beads, and her blonde frizzy hair brittle through constant bleaching. She closed the door, leaned against it, raked me with her eyes.

“What’s on your mind?” she asked. Her voice was harsh and flat.

I glanced at my wrist-watch. It was twenty-five minutes past eleven.

“Last night,” I said, “the new Chief of Police knocked off a boat belonging to Juan Gomez. Maybe you read about it in the Morning Start"

An alert, suspicious expression jumped into her eyes.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

“Never mind who I am,” I said. “I’m tipping you off. That makes me your pal. How do you like me as a pal?” She continued to stare at me. “Keep talking,” she said.

“You look smart,” I said, flicking ash on the worn carpet. “I don’t have to draw you a map. Gomez is mad because Killeano knocked off his boat. He’s on his way out here to start trouble.”

She stiffened. “How do you know?”

“I got a fleet of midgets who keep me informed about such things,” I said.

“I think I’ll get someone to talk to you,” she said, a snap in her voice. She turned to the door.

I reached out, grabbed her wrist, jerked her round. Her flesh felt soft, puffy. I didn’t fancy touching her.

“No, you won’t,” I said. “I’m dealing with you. If you can’t take a friendly tip, then the hell with it. You haven’t much time. Gomez will be here any moment now. You’d better get rid of your clients and the girls. He’s bringing his mob.”

She studied me for a moment. “Wait,” she said, went out.

I sneaked to the door, listened, then stepped into the passage.

She was disappearing into a room at the end of the passage as I came out. I went after her, peered into a well-furnished office. She was trying to get some action from the telephone. It didn’t take her long to realize it wasn’t working. Her face gave her away. She was scared.

“Get organized,” I said from the door, “and make it snappy.”

She pushed past me, almost ran from the room.

I heard her on the stairs, followed her. I was only three steps behind her when she reached a door to the right of the foot of the stairs.

She turned.

“Get out of here,” she snarled, breathing hard. “Go in there and amuse yourself; scram, but don’t follow me around.”

I nodded.

“Just so long as you know what to do,” I said, turned and walked back to the main hall. As I passed the open front door, I paused.

Two big closed cars were drawing up by the tumbledown huts. Men spilled from them.

I thought I might as well launch the balloon. I drew my gun and fired three times above the heads of the running men. Then I slammed the front door, shot home the bolts, put my gun back in its holster, and walked into the dance hall.

7

Hoskiss and I sat under the bar counter. We had the redheaded girl with us, but we had kicked the Cuban out, considering him poor company.

Hoskiss was telling the red-head about his adventures in the Army. He made them sound very exciting and dangerous. The red-head didn’t seem to be listening. She sat huddled up, her hands clasping her knees, a look of strained terror on her face.

Bullets sang through the air; gunfire crackled.

“It reminds me of the time when I was cut off from the rest of the boys after crossing the Rhine,” Hoskiss said reminiscently. “I was bottled up in a fox-hole, and the Jerries started to mortar my position. I didn’t have any whisky to fortify me, and I was scared.”

“Not you,” I said. “Not a big guy like you.”

He anchored his mouth to a bottle of Scotch, took a Ions pull.

“You don’t have to be sarcastic,” he said. “I bet there was time when you were scared too.”

I took the bottle away from him, gave myself a stiff shot.

Someone quite close started firing an automatic rifle. Tb noise was considerable. The redhead screamed, flung her round Hoskiss’s neck, clung to him.

“I’m glad you invited me to this party,” he said to me. “The baby has lost her repressions. She’s almost a woman again.” He held the red-head tightly, winked at me over her head.

“I hope this counter is bullet proof,” I said, pressing the partition with my fingers. It seemed solid enough.

“So long as they can’t see me, I feel safe,” Hoskiss said “Don’t undermine my confidence.”

“I want to go home,” the red-head wailed. They were the first words she had uttered since the shooting had begun.

“I should wait if I were you, baby,” Hoskiss said kindly. “The air outside is awfully unhealthy. I’d hate to see holes those pretty pants of yours. Besides, what should I do without you?”

I worked my way to the end of the counter, cautiously peer round. The dance floor was deserted. I could make out the four members of the band sheltering under the piano. The nigger’s face was grey; his eyes were closed; he held his drum sticks tightly clenched in his right hand. He was more expose than the other three, and he kept trying to wriggle further under cover, but they wouldn’t let him.

Two of the girls had overturned a table and were crouching behind it. I could see their silk clad legs, no more. Over the other side of the room, a man and girl sat against the wall. The girl looked terrified. The man was smoking. His red, mottled face was slack. He kept saying in a loud voice, “Aw, the hell with it.”

All the other men and girls had gone. They were probably hiding in the rooms at the back of the building.

Desultory gunfire kept the night alive. Apart from the automatic rifle, there seemed no organized opposition from within.

“These lads are slow off the mark,” I said to Hoskiss.

“Well, we have lots of time,” he returned, giving himself another drink. “Do you expect me to join in or something?”

“Not just yet,” I said. “You better case off on the Scotch. When you do go into action, you’ll need calm and courage.”

“I’m always calm,” he returned, grinning, “and I’m stocking up in courage.”

I wanted to locate the automatic rifle. It kept banging off near by, but from where I lay, I couldn’t see who was using it. I lay flat, wriggled further out, until my head and shoulders were clear of the protecting counter.

“That’s how guys won the Purple Heart,” Hoskiss said to the red-head. “It’s also a good way to qualify for a funeral.”

I looked around, spotted the sportsman with the rifle. He was kneeling against the front of the counter, and every so often he’d fire blindly at the shuttered windows. He was middle-aged, going bald. Thick glasses sat uneasily on his short fat nose.

“How are you making out, bud?” I asked him. “Think you’re hitting anyone?”

He jumped round with a snarl of fright, swung the gun in my direction. I didn’t wait, but pulled back so fast the red-head squealed with terror.

“Someone say ‘Boo!’ to you?” Hoskiss asked, grinning.

I sat up, wiped my face, shook my head.

“There’s a middle-aged sportsman out there on his own,” I explained. “He’s banging away without even sighting. Maybe I’d better go out and get things organized. This is no way to wage war.”

“Don’t be so bloodthirsty,” Hoskiss said, frowning. “Me and the girl friend find it exciting, don’t we, Tutz?”

The red-head said it was too exciting. The language in which she expressed this opinion startled us.

“I can’t imagine where you girls pick up such talk,” Hoskiss said, pained. “When I was your age–—”

The red-head told him to go boil his head, and she added a couple of other suggestions in case the first one didn’t appeal to him.

It was funny to see a tough guy like Hoskiss turn pink.

Without warning a machine-gun began firing. Bullets smashed through the wooden shutters. A row of bottles above our heads flew into pieces. Liquor and glass showered down on us. The red-head was soused with gin. Whisky poured over Hoskiss’s trouser ends. A piece of flying glass cut my cheek, but I kept dry.

“She’ll taste interesting now if you kiss her,” I said to Hoskiss.

“I can’t stomach gin,” he said, regarding the girl crossly. “Why couldn’t it’ve been Scotch?”

“Well, you can always chew your trousers. You might start a new craze.”

The red-head had collapsed into Hoskiss’s arms, wailing with fright. He shoved her off.

“I don’t love you any more. You smell like hell.”

The sportsman with the automatic rifle began blazing away again. I peeped out.

The nigger drummer rolled his eyes at me. The two pairs of silk clad legs behind the table were still as death. The red-faced man over the other side of the room was glaring angrily at the torn shutters. He suddenly got to his feet, lurched across the room. He was very drunk. As he reached the shutters, the machine-gun started up. He was swept backwards by the hail of bullets. Everyone in the room heard the slugs socking into his body. He landed up on his back, blood ran out of him on to the polished dance floor.

“Real bullets,” I said, wriggling back under cover. “They’ve just killed a drunk.”

“Shocking waste of good liquor,” Hoskiss said, unmoved. He joined me at the end of the counter, looked at the dead man, shook his head. “I feel like letting off my gun now. Childish, isn’t it?”

The door to the dance hall suddenly pushed open and three men came in on their hands and knees. They all carried automatic rifles, all looked business-like.

“Shock troops,” Hoskiss said, beaming. “Now something ought to happen.”

I pulled back as I spotted Don Speratza in the doorway. He didn’t come into the room, but directed the men to take up positions by the window. He was careful not to expose himself more than necessary. I was glad to see him.

The men crawled across the dance floor, crept to the windows and began pouring lead into the night. A sudden yell outside proved they knew their job.

“We might take a little walk before long,” I said. “I’m getting tired of staying one place.”

“Ready when you are,” Hoskiss said, pulling a Mauser pistol from his hip pocket. He thumbed down the safety catch.

The red-head squeaked, “Don’t leave me,” grabbed at him. He threw her arms off impatiently.

“Lay off,” he said roughly. “I got work to do now, Tate.”

Speratza had vanished. I could hear shooting going on at the back of the building. There were yells. It sounded like a break-in.

“Think your boys will take any action?” I whispered.

“They’re on the job now,” Hoskiss said, cocking an ear. “I recognize the sound of a Mauser any place. Hark.”

We could hear a lot of shooting going on outside.

“That’s fine,” I said. “In your official capacity I guess you wouldn’t hesitate to shoot if anyone looked troublesome?”

“You bet I’d shoot,” he said.

“In that case, brother, you’d better go first. I’ll cover your rear.”

“If you want to lead, go ahead,” he said hastily. “I’ll take full responsibility for any deaths you cause.”

Put like that I hadn’t the heart to refuse. I dived for the door, passed into the main hall.

A dim shape standing by the front door twisted round, fired. I felt the wind from the slug fan my face. I shot the dim shape through the head.

“You see how it is,” I said apologetically to Hoskiss. “People just naturally shoot at me.”

“Don’t let it grieve you,” Hoskiss said, peering round the hall. “You go ahead. You’re faster with a gun than I am. I want to come out of this alive.”

There didn’t seem any further opposition in the hall. I made for the door at the foot of the stairs.

“This way, pal,” I said. “Be ready for action.”

I pushed open the door, faced a flight of stairs leading down into a dimly lit basement.

I walked down the stairs, making no more noise than a breath of wind. Hoskiss kept at my heels.

We reached the bottom of the stairs, moved along a passage. I pointed to a thick electric cable running along the wall near the ceiling. Hoskiss nodded, grinned.

At the end of the passage was a door. I paused outside, listened. I couldn’t hear anything.

“Shall we go in?” I whispered in Hoskiss’s ear.

“I suppose so,” he said. “G-men always go in.”

I turned the handle, pushed.

The room was big; elaborately equipped with printing presses. Green shaded lights illuminated the stacks of banknotes piled neatly on benches.

A dead man lay on the floor near the printing press. He had been shot. A small blue-red hole showed in the exact centre of his forehead.

Ed. Killeano knelt on the floor against the far wall. His fat face was yellow and glistening with fear. His pudgy hands were shoulder high, and his eyes started from his head like long stalked toadstools. Clairbold, the intrepid private investigator, complete with his cocoacoloured trick hat, stood over him, a Colt .45 in his small hand.

“Take him away,” Killeano screamed at us as we came in. “Make him put that gun down.”

Hoskiss and I walked over.

“Hello, Fatso,” I said. “Don’t you like our young friend?” I touched Clairbold on his shoulder. “What are you doing here, bright eyes?”

“Call him off!” Killeano shrieked. “Get that gun away!”

Clairbold lowered the gun, cleared his throat apologetically. “I’m glad you’ve come, Mr. Cain,” he said. “I was wondering what I should do with this—er—man.”

Hoskiss ran his fingers through his hair. “Who’s this guy?” he asked blankly.

“The greatest private dick since Philo Vance,” I said.

Killeano made a sudden dive across the desk, reached for a sheet of paper. Hoskiss flung him back.

“Take it easy,” he said. “Park your truss until I can get around to you.”

Killeano snarled at him, wrung his hands.

Clairbold picked up the sheet of paper, blushed, shuffled his feet.

“I have a statement here,” he said, handing me the paper. “It completely clears you, Mr. Cain. This man admits that Bat Thompson killed Herrick, Giles and Brodey, acting on his orders. They knew about the forgery plant. Killeano also admits he is responsible for issuing forged currency. I think you’ll find it in order.”

Dazed, I read the statement. It was a beautifully worded confession. Silently I handed it to Hoskiss who read it, said, “For God’s sake!”

“I deny every word of it,” Killeano babbled. “He was going to shoot me!”

“How did you persuade him to write this?” I asked Clairbold.

He fingered his tie nervously.

“I really don’t understand it myself, Mr. Cain,” he said, puzzled. “I think perhaps he was

frightened my gun wasn’t safe.” He shook his head. “He could be right because it went off unexpectedly when that man rushed in.” He waved his hand at the body by the printing plant. “Killeano thought I might shoot him accidentally. He was quite mistaken, of course, but when I suggested he might care to make a statement he seemed most anxious to do so.”

I looked at Hoskiss, who burst out laughing.

“Look,” I said to Clairbold, “you don’t kid me. You’re not half as dumb as you act. Son, you have a great future before you.”

He blushed. “Well, Mr. Cain, it’s nice of you to say so. I’ve been trained to appear rather simple. The Ohio School of Detection has taught me that criminals underrate people who act dumb.”

I dug Hoskiss in the ribs. “You might get somewhere if you took that course,” I said. “Look what it’s done for this lad.” Then I nodded at Killeano. “Your prisoner, buddy, and it’s our job to get him out of here.”

“Forget it,” Speratza snarled from the door. “Stick up your hands or I’ll blast the lot of you.”

We turned.

Speratza was covering us from the door with a Thompson. His face was white, his eyes vicious.

I had laid my .38 on the desk as I read Killeano’s statement. I calculated the distance, decided it was too far.

Killeano made another rush, tried to grab the statement, but Hoskiss flung him off.

A gun exploded at my side. Speratza dropped the Thompson, swayed. A blue-red hole appeared in the centre of his forehead. He crashed to the floor.

“I don’t believe this gun is safe,” Clairbold muttered, staring at the smoking Colt, but there was a satisfied gleam in his eyes that told me he was kidding.

I fell into Hoskiss’s arms.

“For the love of Mike,” I babbled hysterically, “he learned to shoot like that through the mail.”

8

On the face of it, it looked as if the show was over. I left the tidying up to Hoskiss. I wish now I had done it myself because they let Bat Thompson slide through their fingers. They threw a drag-net around Paradise Palms, but when they hauled it in, everyone who mattered was in it except Bat.

It worried me at first, but after thinking it over I decided that Bat by himself wasn’t a danger. He hadn’t the brains to think up trouble, and he was as near moronic as made no difference. But I would have liked to have seen him behind bars. The Feds were pretty sure that he had got away. It spoilt their case, since he was the guy who had bumped off Herrick, Giles and Brodey.

Killeano got twenty-five years. Speratza and Flaggerty were dead. Juan Gomez had been killed by one of the Federal officers in the fight outside 46 Waterside.

Once I was sure that Bat wasn’t in town, I asked Tim to fetch Miss Wonderly from Key West.

We were now in Palm Beach Hotel, trying to decide our future.

I sat on the balcony and looked at the green ocean. Only this time I didn’t have any presentiment of trouble. She sat on the balustrade.

“All right,” I said, after I had heard her argument. “I’ll get a job. I’ll go respectable if that’s what you really want.”

Her eyes were full of questions.

“But I want you to be happy too,” she said. “If you don’t think you could settle down…”

“I can try, can’t I ?” I said. “The thing to do is for you and me to get married. Then I’ll have to settle down.”

And that’s how we fixed it.

Four days later we were married. Hetty, Tim, Jed Davis, Clairbold (the boy wonder), and Hoskiss turned up at the wedding. It was quite an affair.

We decided to spend our honeymoon at Paradise Palms because the others didn’t want us to go elsewhere. They were pretty good to us, but at the end of the week I decided, if I was going to get a job, I’d better start looking for one. We packed our bags and arranged air passage to New York.

On our last night at Paradise Palms we threw a party that the staff of the hotel still talk about. Hoskiss brought with him six of his hard-drinking G-men. He announced at the beginning of dinner that Clairbold had entered the Federal Service. Clairbold finished up under the table. I guess he was getting beyond his Ohio School of Detection course by now.

After our guests had gone, we went up to our bedroom. It was around two o’clock in the morning. We were undressing in the bedroom when the telephone rang.

I told Clair—she wasn’t Miss Wonderly any more—I’d answer it.

I went into the sitting-room, took off the receiver.

The line crackled, hummed. A woman’s voice said, “Chester Cain?”

I said it was, wondering where I had heard the voice before.

“This is Lois Spence,” the woman said.

“Hello,” I said, wondering what she wanted. I had forgotten about her.

There was a lot of noise on the line. It crackled, popped and buzzed.

“Listen, you heel,” she said, her voice indistinct, far away. “You tricked Juan, and it was through you he was killed. Don’t think you’re going to get away with it. I pay off old debts, so does Bat. Remember him? He’s right by my side. We’re coming after you, Cain. We’ll find you wherever you are. You and your floozie, and we’ll fix you both.”

The line went dead. I replaced the receiver, frowned. Spiders’ legs ran down my neck.

“Who was it?” Clair called.

“A wrong number,” I said, and went back to the bedroom.