Make Mine Murder!

Chapter Three Clay Pigeon

Logun told him the approximate time that June would be coming out of MacLayt’s office. The early evening crowd was light, but the bar was well tenanted. When she came out of the door, Archer pushed himself away from the bar, caught up with her from behind. “Hello, baby,” he said, spinning her around by the shoulders, taking her into his long arms.

He kissed her, as she fought him, struggling, kicking, her angry shouts smothered by his lips. When he turned her loose, she swung her pocketbook at him. It grazed his cheek. She spun and walked out, indignation clear in every line of her body. Logun moved over and said loudly, “Why don’t you leave that girl alone, Archer?” He glared and hurried off after June. Archer smiled at the indignant faces along the bar, sauntered out onto the pier.

Alone in the dusk he tried to guess what it was all about. Logun had acted as though it were a matter of importance. Logun had been setting up witnesses. For what? Adding the little incident to what Shirley had said at breakfast, it seemed that someone was being set up as a clay pigeon. He wondered if he had slipped somewhere along the line, if Logun had found out his true motive.

It made him restless and nervous.

Dusk had been the time of day when Johnny Jermane had liked to talk of things past. Of dreams that were over.

He remembered the sound of Johnny’s voice. “Yeah, Steve, I was the wide-eyed innocent. He had the dough and the experience and when Shirley kept needling me, I took him in as an equal partner. He had the bucks all right. Green stacks of it. He was getting the joint on its feet when I was drafted. All very lovey dovey. Come back soon, Johnny.

“I was alerted for overseas duty when I got the letter from the lawyer. I hadn’t checked the partnership agreement too carefully. There was a clause in it which said that if I was absent from the business for over three months he could buy me out at half the inventory valuation. That was tough. It upset me.

“But then, by the time I got out of the service, I’d have a nice hunk of dough so I could start all over again. He paid the money over to the joint account I had with Shirley. Two months after I got overseas I got the note from Shirley asking for a divorce. Then I got the bank statement. She’d cleaned me.

“I got hit two days later. And after I was here I got an anonymous letter. I think it was somebody who used to work at the place. He wrote that Shirley was drinking and she had bragged how marriage to Logun was her price for letting him in on the deal, talking me into it, cleaning out the bank account and turning it over to him.”

Johnny had told the story over and over again.

Afterwards the doctor had said, “There was no really good medical reason why Jermane died of the after effects of his wounds. But there was a good psychological reason. Something or somebody took the heart out of him. Who ever did that to Jermane, killed him just as definitely as if they’d walked in here at night and cut his throat.”

The week before he had died, Johnny had said, “Steve, if I don’t make it out of here, go take a look, will you? Find out why they rigged it on me the way they did. Find out if Shirley has a heart.”

When you spend a few years of pain in a bed beside a man who talks of his life to cover his own pain and sickness, you learn a good deal about him.

And Steve Archer had vowed that Logun and Shirley would pay.

Night settled over the sea. The din of voices in the Chez Shirley was increasing. Shirley came out and stood beside him. “Deep thoughts, Archer?”

“Deep as the ocean, Mrs. Logun.”

“You and I have a date tomorrow.”

“How nice for me!”

“Don’t waste your sarcasm. I’m not bright enough to appreciate it, Archer. Besides, boss’ orders. We’re going swimming.”

“Today I went swimming with Miss Daley.”

“That I saw. Very cute, too. But I heard that you spoiled the good impression later.”

“What were you trying to tell me this morning about something I won’t be able to stomach?”

“Forget it,” she said. “I was wrong. You won’t have to. I will. And I can do it. It won’t be as hard as I thought.”

At 3:00 in the morning as he went up to his room, he heard the sound of a man groaning in Logun’s apartment. He paused by the door. The groans continued. He knocked.

“Who is it? Oh, come in, Archer,” Logun said.

Shirley sat on the couch, her face slack, her eyes dulled by liquor. Logun sat on the arm of the couch, smiling down with interest on MacLayt. Kister, his eyes still puffed and purpled, squatted on his heels next to MacLayt. MacLayt groaned constantly. His face was the shade of putty.

“A little more,” Logan directed.

Kister pushed MacLayt back into the couch, cracked his fist along MacLayt’s face.

MacLayt screamed thinly, without strength.

Logun said, “Mr. MacLayt has been rather stupid of late. We’re showing him that stupidity can be a painful affair.”

Kister moved over to one side, still smiling.

“Can you hear me?” Logun said loudly to MacLayt. The man nodded.

“Another bull like this last one and you’re going on a boat trip. Do you know what I mean?”

Again MacLayt nodded. Kister yanked the man to his feet, pushed him toward the door. Archer moved aside as MacLayt stumbled out.

“Fortunately,” Logun said smoothly, “his mistakes can be rectified. You’d better go to bed, Archer. You have a date with Shirley at nine.”

Shirley was waiting at the end of the pier. Her back was turned. She wore a white bathing cap. Archer gasped as she turned. Her suit was such a perfect replica of the one June had worn that he had thought it was June.

She had a tense look on her face and her lips were compressed. Logun stood forty feet away.

“Good morning, Archer,” Shirley said. “Gerry has his movie camera with him. He’s a great one for trick shots. He wants us to clown a shot for him.”

She spoke rapidly and tonelessly.

“Sure,” Archer said. “How funny can we get?”

Logun backed up. Archer turned and said, loudly because of the distance, “You won’t get any detail from way back there, friend.”

Logun called, “Do like Shirley says.”

Shirley turned. “Here’s the script. I’m standing looking out to sea. You come up behind me and waver as though you were drunk. Stagger around a little, but sneak up on me. You got it?”

“So far.”

“I’ll turn and see you and then you throw a punch at me. Just barely miss me. Won’t that be funny?”

“Like a crutch,” he said. Her voice bothered him. It was thin, somehow lifeless. As though she was hurrying through something while her courage held up.

Archer frowned. He couldn’t figure out what bothered him about the setup. Both Logun and Shirley seemed tense. He shrugged. Okay, if they liked slapstick.

He did as he was told. When Shirley whirled, he was startled at the whiteness of her face. He clumsily threw the punch, just missing her chin. She threw her head back, crumpled and fell loosely from the end of the pier into the ocean. Archer gasped, peered down, saw Shirley, with a strong crawl, heading toward the shore.

He turned and looked at Logun. “Very funny,” Gerry Logun said. He turned and began to walk back toward the high glass doors.

Suddenly the unrelated fragments clicked into a clear pattern in his mind. The tide was running out. The door swung shut behind Logun. Archer stood, breathing heavily, trying to plan.

Kister came out the door where Logun had disappeared. The muzzle of the revolver was aimed steadily at Steve Archer’s middle. Kister said in his high voice, “Stay still for daddy. Stay still until the cops come. The boss is phoning.”

That confirmed it. Nicely. From the corner of his eye he saw Shirley walking up the path from the ocean toward the side door of the main building. She looked back, a look heavy with fright. In the basin one of the powerful motors grunted into life.

There was no answering the blunt question of the revolver aimed at him. In a toneless voice Archer went carefully and thoroughly into the antecedents, the habits, the probable future history of the Kister twins. He watched the sudden flush and then the pallor. He saw the indecision, the fear of actually pulling the trigger, and still he talked on.

Kister’s control finally cracked. He moved in and slashed at Archer’s face with the revolver.

Archer moved in so quickly that the arm holding the gun wrapped around the back of his neck. In close he made sudden, violent movements, utilizing the twisting strength of his whole body. A spasmed finger yanked the trigger, the slug going harmlessly out to sea. Kister’s eyes rolled up out of sight and he sank down onto the concrete floor without a sound.

Archer snatched up the gun, jumped up onto the railing, high over the power boat moving cautiously down the narrow channel parallel to the dock. Relli stood on deck with one of the sailors.

It had to match. It had to be part of it. He poised, judged the distance, and, just as Relli gave a startled upward glance, he dropped. His bare feet hit with stinging force against the mahogany deck planks and he rolled onto his back. The revolver skidded out of his hand and spun over the side. Relli dropped and, as he dropped, Archer got his legs up. He planted his bare feet against Relli’s chest and shoved violently upward. Relli gave a shrill cry of alarm, teetered wildly with his heels against the foot high rail and went over the side.

The sailor gave a wild yell and seconds later the motors stopped. But already there was a spreading stain in the sea. A wave washed the launch sideways and it jarred against the sand, tipped at an angle.

“The screws caught him,” the sailor said flatly.

Archer darted by him and went down into the cabin. She was on the padded bench on her back, her ankles and wrists tied with soft strips of material. As he reached for her ankles, the sailor jumped onto his back. The impact carried Archer over, his head striking the bulkhead with sickening force. The waves slapped against the hull and someone was shouting in the distance.

Archer, through red waves of pain, rolled over to one side, fighting at the hands which clutched his throat. Suddenly the other man yelled hoarsely and the hands were no longer around his throat.

Archer struggled up. He braced his feet and, as the sailor came up off the floor, he smashed him full in the mouth, feeling the bitter jar of the blow, feeling a bone in his hand give.

The man dropped onto his back and was still. As Archer, ignoring the pain in his right hand, fumbled to untie the soft knots of fabric, the girl giggled hysterically and said, “I bit him.”

Above the sound of the sea, above the slap of waves against the hull, he heard the rising, growing wail of a siren.

The other crew member stood near the cabin hatch and said sullenly, “I don’t know a damn thing about any of this.”

Archer looked up as he sensed movement above him. Logun, his face distorted with rage, his mouth ugly and twisted, aimed carefully down at them. Archer spun and carried the girl with him over the far side of the small craft into the sea.

The sound of the shot was flat and brittle above the deeper roar of the waves. He could no longer hear the siren sound. “Stay here,” he yelled into the girl’s ear. He took a deep breath, went down as far as he could and struck out for the shelter of the pier itself. When he came up he was under the arches of the pier. He swam rapidly to the far side and then in to the beach, utilizing the breakers to push him along. His hand throbbed and his wind was nearly gone. He staggered as he came out onto the white sand.

As he did so, Logun dropped from the pier onto the sand at the other side of the arch, appearing with startling suddenness, his back to Archer. He started to walk over toward the basin, toward the remaining launch, and Archer guessed his plan.

His feet made little sound on the sand. He caught Logun in five running strides, hitting him across the backs of his thighs, spilling him onto the sand. Logun twisted under him, trying to bring the gun to bear. Archer got the wrist, twisted until the gun dropped, drove his left fist down at Logun’s face. But his fist hit into the sand and Logun spun out.

Logun was frighteningly quick. He caught Archer’s left wrist, threw him heavily. Archer blocked the heavy kick with his shoulder, snatched at the foot and missed. He came up with a handful of sand, flung it full into Logun’s face and, as the man cursed and backed away, rubbing at his eyes, Archer hit him with an overhand right that dropped him to his knees. But the pain of the blow against the broken bone made the sky reel darkly.

He fought back the pain and said, “This is for Johnny Jermane.” He smashed Logun in the mouth with a hard fist.

“That will be enough!” a hard voice said. “Joe, bring ’em both up here.”

The three men from the Amira force stood in a sullen half-circle. Logun sat on a chair with the back of the chair against the bar. He held a pale blue handkerchief to his mouth. His eyes were venomous.

Mr. Taen in his wrinkled rayon suit, his soiled panama hat in his hand, said, “I realize that Mr. Logun has done you local gentlemen certain favors. However, I wish you to ignore his pointed hints for you people to arrest him on local charges. My young men are on the way here and we will put him under federal arrest.

“You have heard Mr. Archer’s statement. Mr. Archer did a very fine job of analyzing the events here. He guessed rightly that Miss Daley was working for me and that Mr. MacLayt over there very foolishly allowed Miss Daley to obtain certain confidential data which we need for a conviction of Mr. Logun.

“The evidence of conspiracy to murder Miss Daley will appear on that roll of movie film in the camera on the table. It will show a closeup of Miss Daley walking toward the end of the pier. Then it will show a supposedly drunken Mr. Archer knocking what appears to be Miss Daley off the end of the pier.

“You will note, gentlemen, that the bathing costumes now worn by both Mrs. Logun and Miss Daley are identical in every respect. I rather guess we will find the film just sufficiently out of focus to further the illusion.”

Steve Archer said, “I came here to pay back some favors those two did to a friend. A friend named Jermane.”

He saw Shirley’s eyes widen.

Taen said quickly, “But I persuaded Mr. Archer that he should give up the idea of personal vengeance and work for me on an unofficial basis. Isn’t that right, Mr. Archer?”

Steve glanced at the sour expressions on the faces of the three men from Amira. He licked his lips and said, “Yes sir.” He looked at Logun. “Why frame me?” he asked. “What reason did you have?”

The voice was thick. “You were too smart and too hard. I took this place away from Jermane. I didn’t want you taking it away from me.”

Shirley said softly, “Archer, like I told you, a girl never knows when she’s well off, does she?”

She spun between the two men, yanked open the glass doors and ran down the pier beyond the band platform.

“She can’t get away,” Taen said.

“She’ll get away,” Archer said heavily.

They had to stand and watch her. The tide was out too far for either boat to be launched. She swam powerfully. They stood and watched the glitter of the white cap against the blue of the sea. They watched it until it was gone.

“What are you going to do?” June Daley asked.

Steve Archer lazily stirred his coffee. He said, “I’m a balloon without air. A doll without the sawdust. I thought of killing Logun for so long that it was the only aim and purpose I had.

“This sort of a death is a harder one for him to bear. His gray suit won’t be a good fit and he won’t like marching in line and eating when the big bell rings.”

“Are you sorry you didn’t kill him?”

“No. I was wrong. I know it now.”

They were silent for a long time. It was a comfortable silence.

At last she said, “You could buy the Chez Shirley cheap. You have the money. You ought to be busy until you find out what you really want to do. Set up some sort of a foundation. A lot of kids could live there. Make it a memorial to that friend of yours.”

He slowly tasted the idea and found it good. He said to her, “Why couldn’t Johnny have tied up with a girl like you instead of...”

She gave him a long look, so direct and level as to be almost insolent. “Why couldn’t you?” she asked.