Manhunt. Volume 4, Number 6, June, 1956

It’s not polite to lug a gun when a girl invites you to her apartment. However, Clancy wasn’t sure Audrey wanted him — alive.

1

When the elevator stopped at the second floor of Club Rotunda, the big man started to get off first. But when his raw-boned companion raised a cautioning hand, he waited impatiently until the man stepped out before him, checked the small lobby and signalled that all was clear.

Then he strode from the car and growled, “What the devil could happen here, meathead?”

“You pay me to be careful, don’t you?” the rawboned man asked aggrievedly. “I make a mistake and you won’t be around to pay my salary.”

Without answering, the big man strode ahead into the club’s gaming room, the rawboned man scurrying after him in an attempt to pass him and enter the room first. Failing, he had to content himself with following a pace behind and suspiciously examining the casino patrons as his charge crossed the room.

The big man was about forty-five, with prominent features and slightly bulging eyes. His close-cropped hair came to a widow’s peak in the center of a wide forehead. He was well over six feet tall, and with the exception of a slight paunch most of his two hundred and forty pounds was muscle.

He made straight for a round table at which eight men sat playing five-card stud. One of the players, a slim man of about thirty, with prematurely gray hair and jet-black eyebrows, glanced up at him fleetingly, gave a distant nod and tossed a blue chip into the pot.

“Got a minute, Clancy?” the big man asked.

Nodding without again looking up, the silver-haired man waited for the bet to come back to him. When the player to his right pushed forward two blue chips, Clancy Ross made a grimace and folded over his hand. Rising from his seat, he signalled a nearby houseman to take his place.

Without looking at either the big man or his bodyguard, he moved toward the small lobby from which the two had just come, turned right when he reached it and led the way down a hall to his private office. Inside, he vaguely waved at chairs, seated himself on the edge of a huge desk, one foot on the floor and one idly swinging.

Clancy Ross was not a large man, about five-eleven and a hundred and seventy pounds, but his slim body moved with the controlled grace of a fencing master.

The big man chose an expensively-upholstered easy chair and the rawboned man leaned his back against the door. Ignoring the latter, the slim gambler turned his attention to Bix Lawson.

“Something, Bix?” he asked.

The prominent eyes of St. Stephen’s political boss and gang over-lord studied Ross before replying.

Finally, he said, “I hear Tony Armanda’s trouble shooter, Louie Book, dropped by to see you last night.”

Clancy Ross fingered the knife-thin scar which ran along the left edge of his jaw from the earlobe to the slight cleft in his chin. “He and some four hundred other customers,” he admitted.

“He just come to roll the dice, or for a little business talk?”

“Some of both. But he settled for rolling the dice.”

Lawson nodded his head. “Yeah, I figured that.”

“Then why the checkup? You weren’t really worried that I’d tie in with a mug like Armanda, were you?”

This time Lawson shook his head. “I wasn’t worried that you had — yet. But you don’t think you can sit this one out as a neutral, do you? This time you’re going to have to jump one way or the other. You know what Tony Armanda’s after, don’t you?”

“Sure. Control of the town. Which means running you out.” Ross grinned. “I hear he stopped your expansion into Blair City cold, after you went to all the trouble of exterminating the Shelly mob. And now he’s getting ready to move into your territory. Maybe he’d never have gotten the idea if you hadn’t tried to muscle in on Blair City.”

Bix Lawson waved a large hand dismissingly. “That’s water over the dam. The point is, he’s getting ready for an all-out fight. It’s going to be tough. He’s organized big. Maybe bigger than I am, though I got the advantage of already being in the saddle.”

Ross shrugged. “It’s no skin off my nose. You and he kill each other off. Between battles you can drop into the Club Rotunda for relaxation — as paying customers.”

“It ain’t that simple, Clancy,” Lawson said heavily. “Tony Armanda figures your place here as an opening wedge, because you’re the only independent in town.” He paused, then inserted querulously, “Why the devil do you want to stay independent? If you came in the system, your protection payoff would drop in half and you’d have a couple of dozen guns to back you up when somebody like Armanda tried to push you around.”

“We’ve been over the subject before,” Ross said. “Nobody’s pushing me around.”

“No? Well the grapevine says Armanda’s not going to take a no from you. You’re either jumping his way, or he’s going to move in and take over Club Rotunda himself. He needs it for a beachhead. And I’m not going to sit still while he establishes one. You’re going to have to throw in with me.”

Ross said mildly, “That sounds like an ultimatum.”

The big man’s lower jaw thrust out pugnaciously. “Call it what you want, Clancy. A war’s shaping up, and you’re the key to it. I’m not risking a setup I been twenty years organizing just to keep from hurting your feelings. You’re either with me or against me. You either fall in line, or I’m going to have to take over the club.”

Clancy Ross flashed his teeth in a bright smile. “You actually declaring war, Bix?”

The big man glowered at him for a long time. Eventually, he said, “I’m just telling you the setup. Take it or leave it.”

“Then you’re declaring war,” the gambler decided. Smoothly he came erect and moved toward the bigger man. “We may as well start it right now.”

Bix Lawson looked startled. Holding up one hand, he said, “Hey, why you always have to have such a short fuse?”

The rawboned bodyguard took a step forward, his fingers fiddling with the lapel of his coat. Lawson turned to look at him.

“Back off and get that look off your face,” he said in a peevish tone. “You’re outclassed.”

The rawboned man blinked and, with reluctant obedience, backed against the door again. Bix Lawson heaved himself to his feet.

“Okay, you called my bluff,” he said to Ross. “But it was only part bluff. If you really think you can stay neutral, I’ll go along. I got enough trouble with Tony Armanda without tangling with you. I’ll leave you alone as long as he does. But I’m not sitting on the sidelines while he takes the Rotunda right from under my nose. The minute Armanda moves in on you, I’m hitting you from the other side. Think it over and get smart.”

“I have,” Ross said pleasantly. “You can both go to hell.”

2

Fifteen minutes later Clancy Ross was standing near one of the dice tables idly watching the play when Sam Black, his first assistant, tapped him on the shoulder.

Sam Black was a barrel-chested man with an air of stupidity which camouflaged an unusually astute mind. His function was to manage the legitimate night-club portion of Club Rotunda on the first floor, and he seldom ventured up to the gaming room unless he had important business with his employer.

When Ross raised an inquiring eyebrow, the stocky assistant manager drew him aside out of earshot of nearby patrons.

He asked, “What’s all this parade of competitive hoods into the club, Clancy?”

“Parade?” Ross asked.

“Last night it was Louie Book, Tony Armanda’s right hand. A few minutes ago Bix Lawton. And now Tony Armanda himself is sitting in your office. I put him in there and gave him a stall until I had a chance to talk to you.”

“Why? I don’t mind talking to him.”

He started to move away, but Black grasped one arm. “Some kind of squeeze is on, isn’t it, Clancy?”

“Don’t worry about it, Sam. I’ll handle it.”

He tried to disengage his arm, but Black held on tight. In a faintly exasperated tone the assistant manager said, “Yeah. You’ll handle it clear up to your neck. I got an idea of what’s going on. You’re not the only one with an ear to the grapevine. Armanda and Lawson arc fixing to clash, and probably they both want you on their side. They’re bringing some pressure?”

“I said I’d handle it.”

“Sure you will. You’ll spit in their eyes. And catch us right in the middle. Why don’t you get some sense?”

Ross grinned at him. “About what?”

“About this damn-fool independence of yours. Just because you won’t work through Lawson’s machine, we shell out double the protection any other joint in town pays. And we’re sitting ducks when some goon like Armanda decides to muscle in. For what?” Black paused, then answered himself. “Just so you don’t have to take orders from anybody.”

“That’s a pretty good reason,” the gambler said mildly.

“Let’s get smart, Clancy. If you can’t stomach Lawson, let’s jump on Armanda’s band wagon. We can’t fight both of them.”

“Why not?”

Sam Black looked at him speechlessly for a long time, then expelled his breath and said in the patient tone of a teacher explaining something to the class dunce, “You’ve got a gun permit and I’ve got a gun permit. There’s not another employe in the club who packs a rod, and you wouldn’t let them mix in the fight even if they had rods. Lawson and Armanda must have fifty goons between them. What’s your plan? For you to take on one mob single-handed and for me to take on the other?”

The slim gambler shrugged. “I haven’t any plans. Nobody’s called for a showdown yet. And I won’t make the first pass.”

“Now that’s reasonable of you,” Black said with exaggerated admiration. “You’re not going to attack half a hundred mobsters unless they make you mad. What’s the matter? Mellowing in your old age?”

Gently Ross pried loose the fingers gripping his arm and turned toward the lobby. Sam Black fell in at his side.

“I won’t need you,” Ross said.

“Hah!” Black said in a tone indicating he was coming along as a restraining influence whether his employer liked it or not.

Then, just as they reached the lobby, he said in afterthought, “There’s a couple of people with Armanda.”

Tony Armanda’s two companions turned out to be a man and a woman. The man was in his late twenties, thin and pale with barroom pallor, and with the exaggerated expressionlessness of a hired killer who knows he is tough and wants the world to know it. Ross glanced at him once and dismissed him.

The woman got more of his attention. About twenty-five, she was slim and dark and languorous-looking, with huge black eyes and sensually heavy lips. She wore a brilliant red evening gown, and black hair fell nearly to her naked shoulders. The low-cut gown exposed a considerable amount of bare flesh, and the gambler noted that it was the flawlessly-smooth texture of coffee with cream.

The woman was seated and the pale bodyguard leaned comfortably against the left wall. Tony Armanda stood at the opposite side of the room studying the labels of bottles on Ross’s private bar. When Ross and Black entered, he turned abruptly and looked Ross up and down.

About forty, Armanda was a tall, muscularly-built man with hawk-like features and oily black hair just beginning to gray. There was an air of brisk arrogance about him, as though he were used to giving commands, enjoyed doing it, and expected instant obedience.

Armanda said, “You’re Clancy Ross,” making it a statement rather than a question, then swung his attention to his companions without even awaiting verification.

Drawing a thick clip of bills from his pocket, he tossed two fifties in the woman’s lap and said, “Go play some games until I’m through here, honey.”

To the man he said, “You wait in the hall, Slit.”

The pale bodyguard obeyed instantly. The woman reacted more slowly, leisurely rising with the bills loosely held in her hand, then pausing with her gaze on Ross.

When Armanda ignored this obvious hint for an introduction, the gambler bowed slightly and said, “Clancy Ross, ma’am.”

“How do you do?” she said and smiled. “I’m Audrey Livingston.”

Tony Armanda frowned at her, but when she lifted her chin and looked at him in cool rebuke for failing to introduce her, his normally arrogant expression dissolved into a pacifying smile.

“Run along and win some money, baby,” he said with none of the element of command he had used in addressing his bodyguard. “I’ll try not to be long.”

The woman obeyed this time, moving through the doorway with a sensual sway of hips which seemed to be deliberately assumed for Clancy Ross’s benefit.

When the door closed behind her, Armanda ignored Black and said to Ross, “I sent my boy Louie Book to see you last night, but he didn’t seem to get across my message.”

“Oh, he got it across all right,” Ross said with a pleasant smile as he sat on the edge of his desk. “It’s just that the answer was no.”

The dark man’s eyes glittered as he gave his head a slight but definite shake. “He couldn’t have gotten it across then. It isn’t a yes-or-no proposition. The only right answer is yes.”

“Oh?” Ross said, raising an eyebrow.

“You must know the situation, Ross,” Armanda said with cold impatience. “The Rotunda’s the key spot in St. Stephen. It’s the fulcrum I need for my lever to pry loose Bix Lawson. I’m not accustomed to wasting time, so I’ll make it short and sweet. Fall in line and you stay in charge of the club, only as part of my organization. Keep saying no and I’ll take over anyway and put one of my boys in your place.”

“That wouldn’t work,” Ross said reasonably. “It takes somebody alive to run a gambling casino. Your boy would be dead before he got comfortably seated behind my desk.”

Tony Armanda’s lips compressed to a thin line and his expression turned faintly unbelieving. “You know who you’re talking to, Ross?” He tapped his own chest with a forefinger. “This is Tony Armanda. I run half the towns in the state, and in another month I’ll run this one. That means everybody in it, including you. Who do you think you are? I’ve got two dozen guns in town right now, and you’ve got none.”

“One,” the gambler corrected. “My own.”

Armanda snorted. “That much I can handle without even my boys’ help. Come off it, punk. Let’s get down to business before I lose my patience.”

“Did you say punk?” Ross inquired.

The dark man stared at him. “You have some objection? I call anybody at all anything I damn please. You may as well get used to it right now.”

Clancy Ross’s expression became one of pleasurable anticipation. As he slid from the edge of the desk, Sam Black came erect from his chair and stepped in front of him.

“Now just a minute, Clancy,” Black said. “Let’s not go off half-cocked.”

“You’d better hold him back, buster,” Tony Armanda said, “unless you want to scrape him off the walls.”

Ross’s expression gained in brightness. He started to step around Black, and his assistant’s look turned slightly desperate. Suddenly Black placed a hand against the gambler’s chest and pushed. The movement caught Ross unprepared, and he staggered backward to seat himself abruptly in the chair Black had just left.

With incredible speed Sam Black was across the room. Armanda didn’t even realize he was being attacked until it was too late to block the six-inch jab which whistled at his chin. The blow landed with a dull splat, rocking the man hard against the wall.

Slowly Armanda slid to a seated position, rolled sidewise and lay still.

3

Ross had bounced from his chair and was glaring at Black in exasperation.

“You can’t afford to tangle with this guy,” Black said rapidly. “You can still talk your way out. When he wakes up, tell him I’m a demented cousin parolled to your keeping. Say you called the men with the nets, and they took me back to the asylum while he was still asleep. I’ll drop out of sight for a couple of years until he forgets.”

“Shut up,” Ross said irritably.

Walking over to the unconscious man, he grasped him by the collar and the seat of the pants.

“Open the door,” he ordered Black.

Resignedly Sam Black pulled the door wide. Ross made a short run forward and hurled Armanda a dozen feet down the hall on his face.

The astonished bodyguard next to the door sprang away from the wall, glanced from his unconscious employer to the gambler and fell into a crouch. Ross looked at him coolly, waiting. The man’s features were set in a snarl and his right hand hovered near his coat opening.

“Go ahead,” Ross invited. “I haven’t killed anybody as stupid-looking as you for a long time.”

The bodyguard remained rigid, tensed to start a draw, yet deterred by the gambler’s seeming indifference. Ross stood without strain, his arms loosely at his sides.

The pale man’s expression turned uncertain. Looking at the recumbent Armanda, he asked, “What happened?” in a tone suggesting he was inquiring about some accident in which Ross had had no part.

“He bumped his jaw and knocked himself out,” Ross said. “He’ll be all right in a minute. When he comes to, get him out of here.”

Turning to Sam Black, he said curtly, “Better run out to the game room and tell Miss Livingston her escort is leaving.”

Then he re-entered his office, closing the door behind him.

Deciding he deserved a drink before returning to his over-seeing duties in the casino, Ross mixed himself a weak Scotch and water at his private bar. He was halfway through it when a gentle knock came at the door.

“Come in,” he called.

The door opened and Audrey Livingston entered.

“Tony and Slit are gone,” she told him. “I decided to stay awhile.”

He studied her for a moment, finally asked, “Why?”

“Partly curiosity. I figure a man crazy enough to throw Tony out of his place like a common bum is worth knowing. Partly boredom.”

The gambler shrugged. Indicating his glass, he asked, “Drink?”

“Bourbon and ginger, please.” She moved over to join him at the bar.

When he had mixed her drink, they silently toasted each other, Ross eyeing her speculatively over the rim of his glass and the woman smiling at him challengingly.

“You an old friend of Armanda’s?” Ross asked.

She shrugged. “Not very. He’s been in town less than a month.”

“You didn’t know him before that?”

“No. Why? Do we have to talk about Tony?”

“I’m just trying to figure your relationship,” Ross said. “He acted as though he thought he had some proprietary interest in you.”

She shrugged again, without resentment. “He’s been paying my rent for a couple of weeks,” she conceded. “It was his suggestion, not mine, though I didn’t object to being taken out of the chorus line at Club Silhouette. A girl has to live. But he doesn’t own me. I made that clear from the beginning, and he accepted it.”

“Why? Armanda doesn’t strike me as a man who would take much pushing around, even from a woman as beautiful as you.”

She gave him a brilliant smile. “Thank you, sir. Am I beautiful?”

“You know you are. That was a statement of fact, not flattery. Why’s Armanda put up with you?”

“I suppose he loves me,” she said indifferently. “There’s only one way to handle a man like Tony. If a woman didn’t get the upper hand right at the beginning, he’d walk all over her. The only alternative is to walk on him. So I do, and he takes it.”

Finishing his drink, Ross set his glass down. “You’re a big girl and should know what you’re doing, but I think you’re playing with fire.”

“I like playing with fire,” she said.

“If only other people get burnt, eh?” Ross said dryly. “Like now. If your boy friend gets jealous, he’ll probably turn his fire on me, not you.”

“That bother you?”

“Not particularly. But if I’m going to have the name, I may as well have the game. If Tony Armanda’s going to send jealous bullets my way, I want to deserve them.”

Taking the half-empty glass from her hand, he set it on the bar next to his own. Then he laid a hand on each of her bare shoulders and roughly pulled her against his chest.

She didn’t put up even a token struggle. Her arms went about his neck and her full-lipped mouth closed over his eagerly. She strained against him, her grip about his neck tightening with uncontrolled passion until Ross had to break the hold.

“Whew!” he said, pushing her away. “Did you say you worked in a chorus line, or were a lady wrestler?”

Pouting at him, she tossed her head. “I’ve never had any complaints before.”

“I’m not complaining,” he assured her, as he reached for her again.

When he gently pushed her away the second time, she stood with shoulders slumped, staring at him dazedly.

“This is no place for love making,” he said. “Some customer may come in to cash a check at any moment.”

“We could lock the door,” she suggested in a far-away voice.

He smiled at her. “During business hours? I’m supposed to be working now, you know. Let’s table it.”

Wiping the lipstick from his mouth, he crossed to the door and held it open for her to precede him. She looked at him reproachfully, then straightened her shoulders and marched through the door.

The girl accompanied Ross back to the gaming room and trailed along while he made a supervisory check of the various games. It was obviously her intention to spend the rest of the evening with him, but the gambler wasn’t in the habit of neglecting business for pleasure. Though Audrey Livingston was a provocative woman, he hadn’t invited her to stick with him, and he felt no responsibility for her entertainment. After making his inspection tour, he gave her a pleasant smile and, without even offering an excuse, seated himself at the poker table.

She was still present when the club closed at four A.M. As Ross accompanied the last departing patron to the elevator, he found her patiently waiting in a chair in the small lobby. When the elevator doors had closed, he looked at her inquiringly.

“I thought you might like to buy me a nightcap,” she said.

He glanced through the archway into the second-floor barroom just off the lobby. “Ben’s cleaning up. But there’s a bar in my apartment upstairs.”

The girl gave him a slow smile. Rising languorously, she said, “That’s what I had in mind.”

4

At noon Clancy Ross came into the bedroom of his third-floor apartment carrying a tray containing orange juice for two, a pot of coffee, toast and a platter of golden eggs and bacon. Setting it on the bedside stand, he prodded the sheet-covered figure in the bed.

Opening one eye, Audrey Livingston looked up at the fully-clothed gambler, sat erect and pulled the sheet up across her full breasts. She stretched like a kitten, glanced at the tray and gave Ross a sleepy smile.

“You can cook too,” she said. “You’d make some lucky girl a fine wife.”

“I had it sent up from the club kitchen,” Ross said mildly.

Pulling a chair up to the bedside, he fixed a plate of eggs and bacon for the girl and set it in her lap. Preparing another for himself, he drained one of the glasses of orange juice and began to eat. The girl also started eating.

“Is this just a casual interlude?” she asked after a time. “Or do you want me to send Tony Armanda on his way?”

Ross hiked an eyebrow at her. “I thought he was paying your rent.”

“Well, it would involve a change in that arrangement.”

The gambler shook his head. “Afraid I’m the bachelor type.”

The girl exhibited no disappointment. “Well, it was worth a try,” she said philosophically. “But I didn’t suppose you went in for buying your women. So I just say thanks for the momentary diversion and good-by, huh?”

“That’s up to you,” Ross told her. “We can get together again, if you want, but I’ve no intention of assuming the obligation for your support.”

She made a face at him. “You’re certainly blunt. I don’t know what women see in you.”

“They admire my cooking.”

In the front room the phone rang. Setting down his plate, the gambler went to answer it. At his hello a husky voice said, “Mr. Ross?”

“Yeah, Whisper,” Ross said, recognizing the voice. “What’s up?”

“I hear Tony Armanda’s kind of mad at you.”

“I know,” Ross said. “But I’m a little surprised the news hit the grapevine so soon.”

“It wasn’t a leak, Mr. Ross. He put the word out deliberately. He’s not just turning his own guns on you. Maybe he wants to save them for his clash with Bix Lawson. I dunno about that. But anyway you got a price on your head for any free lancer who wants to make a try.”

“Oh? How much?”

“Five hundred bucks.”

“Five hundred” Ross said, outraged. “Is that all the cheapskate’s offering?”

“Well,” the stool pigeon said in a reasonable tone, “if the price was on some guy like Bix Lawson, a gunnie would have to figure the chance of getting it back from some other member of Bix’s gang after he pulled the kill. With you he wouldn’t have to worry so much once he got the job done. Everybody knows you got no gang except Sam Black.”

Ross thought this over, finally asked, “The finger on Sam too?”

“Not that I heard. You can’t tell, though. Maybe some free lancer would figure it was safer to take him along too. I would, if I was crazy enough to make a try. I wouldn’t want Black gunning for me afterward.”

Ross thought a moment more, then grinned sourly. “You can pick up your fee from Oscar the head-waiter any time after he comes on duty at four, Whisper. Meantime, here’s an item to drop into the grapevine yourself. The gun who delivers me Tony Armanda’s head earns two grand C.O.D.”

The informer whistled. “Four times Armanda’s price! Wow! That’s pricing him right out of the market.”

“That’s my intention,” Ross said dryly, and hung up.

Immediately, he phoned Sam Black at his home to alert him against possible attack.

“My counter offer probably won’t have any effect on Armanda’s own men,” Ross told the assistant manager. “But once it gets around, it ought to stall off any free lancers. Some hopped-up gunnie might try his luck before he hears of the counter offer, though. So watch yourself.”

“You’re offering two grand, huh?”

“Right.”

“Hell, I think I’ll go after it myself. Why should you give two grand to some stranger?”

“I doubt that I will. Don’t worry about it.”

“You mean it’s a phony offer?”

“I mean probably nobody will take it. I just threw it out to create a stalemate. Naturally Armanda will raise my bet as soon as he hears about it. By the time I raise his again, every free lance gun in town will start sitting it out to see what the final top offer is. Which should leave the situation right back where it was, with only Armanda’s regular guns to worry about.”

“Only?” Black repeated. “That’s the understatement of the year.”

“See you at three,” Ross said, and hung up.

When he re-entered the bedroom, Audrey Livingston had finished breakfast and was in the bathroom dressing. Ross glanced at his now cold eggs, made a face and lit a cigarette.

When the girl finally came from the bathroom, he asked, “Want me to call you a cab?”

“If you want to get rid of me,” she said. “I haven’t anything in particular to do.”

“I have,” the gambler told her. “I have two hours of book work to do before opening time.”

Returning to the front room, he phoned for a taxi. Then he accompanied the girl down to the first floor to let her out of the building, for the club was not as yet open for business.

At the door she asked, “When will I see you again?”

Ross told her he would call her.

A few minutes after he entered his second-floor office and began working on his books, he got another phone call, this time from Bix Lawson.

Bix said, “Clancy, the information is all over town that Tony Armanda’s out to get you. Why don’t you wise up and throw in with me? It would save you a lot of trouble.”

Ross asked, “From Armanda or from you?”

The local political boss was silent for a time. Presently he said, “Let’s quit sparring, Clancy. This is the last offer. Want to fall in line?”

“No,” Ross said.

“Okay,” Lawson said in a quiet voice. “See you around.”

The phone went dead.

After replacing the receiver, Ross frowned at it for some time. Then he shrugged and returned to his book work.

5

During the next two days there was no sign of action from either Tony Armanda or Bix Lawson. Probably this was more the result of lack of opportunity than because of patience on the parts of the rival gang leaders.

During the hours the club was open, Ross was surrounded by too many innocent bystanders to make assassination practicable. And he could hardly be reached after closing hours unless he went outside, because for all practicable purposes his third-floor apartment was as impregnable as a fortress. The only means of access to it was by the same elevator which took customers to the second-floor casino, and Ross customarily cut the power and left the car on the third floor when he retired so there was literally no way to reach him as long as he remained in the building.

Often, even when no one was gunning for him, he didn’t leave the building for as long as a week at a time. And it just so happened that he had no occasion to leave the sanctuary of the club during the two days in question.

The gambler’s indifference to personal danger didn’t extend to disregard for others’ safety, however. On his instruction Sam Black temporarily moved into the third-floor guest room, so that the assistant manager presented as poor a target as Ross.

There was not even a call from Whisper during the two days, which led Ross to believe Tony Armanda had not yet reacted to Ross’s boost in price. The gambler was not a particularly patient man, and he was beginning to contemplate making the next move himself when, on the third night after he had tossed Armanda out of his club, Audrey Livingston phoned.

“I’ve been sitting by the phone,” she said. “I thought you were going to call.”

“I just hadn’t gotten to it yet,” he told her. “My odd work hours don’t leave much time for social life. What’s up?”

“Nothing in particular. I’m just lonely tonight and thought you might drop over for a couple of drinks.”

Though the girl’s voice was gay, something in her tone struck a jarring note. Attempting to analyze what it was, Ross decided her words sounded as though they had been carefully rehearsed.

Probably the off-note would have escaped him under ordinary circumstances. But with Tony Armanda on his mind, and knowing that the girl was Armanda’s mistress, he wondered if the gang leader had somehow induced her to act as bait to lure him from the safety of the club.

He asked casually, “No Tony tonight?”

“He’s catching a plane for Blair City tonight,” Audrey said. “He won’t be back till tomorrow night.”

Possibly he had merely been overimaginative in reading some sinister meaning into the girl’s tone, Ross thought. Glancing at his watch, he saw it was only nine P.M. “Things are a little slow tonight,” he said. “And I haven’t taken an evening off in some time. See you in about an hour.”

Placing the casino in charge of his number-one houseman, Ross went upstairs to change from the dinner jacket which was his work uniform into less formal clothes. In the act of selecting a fresh shirt, he paused to consider possible measures he might take in the event Audrey Livingston’s invitation was some kind of trap.

Alone with a beautiful woman in her apartment, the evening’s early routine was fairly predictable, he reflected. She would suggest he remove his suit coat in order to be more comfortable. As this would leave the shoulder harness for his .38 automatic in full view, it would be logical for him to remove it and hang it up somewhere. As a matter of fact it would be illogical not to, as it would look rather silly to sit around wearing a gun when the girl would probably be in a housecoat or negligee.

From the top drawer of his dresser he removed an odd-looking rig. It consisted of a leather strap about three inches wide and just long enough to buckle about a man’s forearm. Sewed to the inside of it was a thick piece of elastic tape, the other end of which was attached to the butt of an old-fashioned double-barrelled derringer. After strapping the rig about his right forearm, halfway between the elbow and wrist, so that the tiny pistol rested against the inner side of his arm, he selected a shirt with wide French cuffs.

When he had buttoned the shirt, he tested the contrivance by suddenly snapping his arm forward. As if by sleight-of-hand the derringer appeared in his fist. When he released it, it slithered out of sight up his sleeve again.

When he had tested it several times, he took a box of .44 caliber rim-fire shells from the same drawer which had contained the gun, loaded the pistol and dropped six extra shells in his left pants pocket. Then he strapped on his regular shoulder rig and pulled his coat over it.

He reached the parking lot and his Lincoln without seeing any sign of lurking gunmen, unlocked his car and took a flashlight from the glove compartment. Lifting the car’s hood, he carefully studied the wiring, satisfied himself there were no bombs attached to the ignition or starter systems, and closed the hood again.

All the way across town to Audrey Livingston’s apartment on Wood Street, he kept one eye on the rear-view mirror, but there was no indication of a tail. Perversely, he felt a touch of disappointment.

He parked a half block away and approached the apartment building with equal caution. But still he spotted nothing suspicious.

The building in which Audrey Livingston lived was a four-family place with individual outside entrances to each apartment. Audrey’s was the lower right one.

She answered his ring immediately and showed him into a broad living room expensively furnished with ultra-modern furniture.

Audrey wore an ankle-length hostess gown with a black skirt and a flaming red top. A broad V at the throat extending from the cleft between her full breasts to the tips of her shoulders left the upper swell of her bosom bare. The thin, close-fitting material was unmarked by the lines of any underclothing beneath it.

She gave Ross an enthusiastic kiss and said, “Let me take your suit coat so you can be comfortable.”

He smiled slightly at the accuracy with which he had predicted the routine. “Sure,” he said, slipping out of the coat.

Holding it, she looked with apparent surprise at the gun beneath his arm.

“I have a permit,” Ross said. “I usually carry one.”

“Do you have to keep it on here?” she asked. “Guns make me uncomfortable.”

Ross smiled again, pleased with the way his mental predictions were working out. Obligingly he unbuckled the harness and laid it on top of the fireplace mantel.

Audrey immediately picked it up and carried it into the bedroom along with his coat.

Up to that moment the likelihood that he was deliberately walking into a trap had been nothing but a remote possibility to the gambler. But Audrey’s entry into the bedroom instantly convinced him that he was in one. Ordinarily she would have moved languorously, employing the opportunity to give him the benefit of her seductive hip movement. But she practically grabbed up the gun harness, and she moved toward the bedroom in a straight and rapid line, as though impelled to get out of sight as soon as possible.

6

Five minutes passed with no sign from the darkened bedroom. Then, finally, Ross heard the cautious opening of some door beyond the bedroom. At the same moment a key rasped in the front door lock.

His attention divided, the gambler attempted to keep one eye on each door. But he shifted full attention to the front door when it suddenly swung open.

Tony Armanda stepped into the room, followed by his pale bodyguard, Slit. The gang leader’s eyes narrowed when he saw Ross, and the bodyguard instantly stepped in front of his employer, his right hand out of sight beneath his coat.

No one said anything for a moment. After studying the shirtsleeved Ross and deciding he was unarmed, Slit’s pinched expression relaxed and he took a step toward the gambler. His right hand was still buried beneath his arm.

“Thought you were on your way to Blair City, Armanda,” Ross remarked.

Tony Armanda’s face darkened. “So did Audrey. I would have been if I hadn’t had a tip she was entertaining you.”

Ross looked surprised. “You mean she isn’t in on this setup?”

Instead of answering, Armanda said to Slit, “What you waiting for? Get it done.”

The sallow gunman’s hand came from beneath his arm with unhurried confidence. At the same instant Ross’s right hand snapped upward. Slit, in the act of leisurely cocking a short-barreled .38, allowed his eyes to bulge at the derringer which miraculously appeared in the gambler’s hand. An instant too late he centered his pistol on Ross, only to slam back against the wall with a bullet in his chest when the derringer boomed.

Slowly the pale bodyguard slid to the floor, attempting without success to bring up his gun for a retaliatory shot. Reaching a seated position, he toppled over on his side.

A movement in the bedroom doorway swung Ross’s attention that way. The rawboned bodyguard who had accompanied Bix Lawson to Club Rotunda crouched there, a .45 automatic leveled.

Ross dropped sidewise just as it roared, recocking and firing the derringer as he fell. The bullet from the .45 whispered past his head, striking the stone mantelpiece and ricocheting into the ceiling. His own slug caught the rawboned man in the stomach, doubling him over, causing him to fall into the room on his face.

Tony Armanda for so many years had depended on hired guns, he was out of practice in the use of them himself. Instead of reaching for his own the moment the shooting started, he merely stood in the role of observer. It wasn’t until the rawboned man’s gun skittered across the room and caromed off Armanda’s foot that he decided to go into action.

But by then it was too late. Bouncing to one knee, Ross broke the derringer, thumbed out the spent cartridges and reloaded so rapidly that he had snapped the gun closed again and had Tony Armanda covered before the gang leader could complete his belated draw. Armanda froze, his hand out of sight beneath his arm.

“Easy does it,” Ross said quietly. “Hands on top of head.”

Carefully Armanda removed his hand from beneath his arm, placed it atop his head and joined it with his other hand. Ross rose from his kneeling position and looked at the dark bedroom doorway.

“Come out with your hands on your head too, Audrey,” he called. “If you think I’m too much of a gentleman to shoot a woman, just try using the gun I gave you.”

The sound of a long-held breath being expelled came from the bedroom. Then, her face pale and her hands firmly clasped on top of her head, Audrey Livingston appeared in the doorway. Her gaze moved fascinatedly from the dead Slit to the recumbent rawboned man, who picked that moment to make a final gurgling sound. The girl raised sick eyes to Clancy Ross.

Ross said to Armanda, “How’d you get the tip that I was here?”

“An anonymous phone call,” Armanda said huskily. “About an hour ago, just as I was getting ready to leave for my plane.”

“That’s interesting,” Ross said. “Until an hour and a half ago, I didn’t know myself I was going to be here.”

He looked at the girl, who said in a shaky voice, “I didn’t have anything to do with it. Honest to God, Clancy.”

“No,” Ross said. “You just planted Lawson’s stooge in the other room and got my gun away from me so I couldn’t shoot back. You thought you were just setting me up for a kill. You didn’t know Bix intended to ring Tony in on the act and make a clean sweep of things, did you?”

When both Armanda and the girl stared at him uncomprehendingly, Ross said, “Didn’t you know Bix Lawson owns half interest in Club Silhouette, Armanda? Audrey was working for Bix when you met her. She still is. Bix planted her as a spy in your camp. I suspected that the moment she told me you’d lifted her from the chorus at Club Silhouette. Bix instructed her to set this thing up tonight. Only apparently he didn’t let her in on his complete plans. You were supposed to eliminate me, then Lawson’s goon was supposed to knock you off. If my suspicious nature hadn’t made me bring along a second gun, probably it would have worked.”

Tony Armanda looked at the trembling girl with murder in his eyes. Then he said to Ross, “What you going to do with us?”

“Depends,” Ross said. “Want to continue this war?”

Armanda shook his head. “I’d be dead if you hadn’t figured this right. We’re quits if you’re willing to leave it that way. I won’t crowd you again.”

The gambler also shook his head. “That’s not good enough. As long as you and Lawson continue to clash, I’m in the middle. With you out of the picture, Bix will leave me alone. I’ll give you a choice. Pull out of town and go back to Blair City within twenty-four hours, or I’ll kill you on sight. And I won’t wait for an accidental encounter. I’ll look you up.”

When Armanda licked his lips and stared at him, Ross added, “Think it’s worth chancing you can get me first?”

Tony Armanda came to a decision. “I’ll pull out,” he said.

Ross allowed the derringer to slip back up his sleeve. Unconcernedly he entered the bedroom, clicked on the light, lifted his shoulder harness from the bed, buckled it on and slipped into his coat. Through the open doorway he could see that both Armanda and the girl had allowed their hands to drop from their clasped positions on top of their heads.

When he re-entered the front room, Audrey Livingston said fearfully, “You going to leave me here alone with Tony, Clancy?”

He smiled at her without humor. “Think I owe you something?”

“He’ll kill me,” she whispered.

When Ross unconcernedly headed for the door, she said in a panic-stricken voice, “Clancy!”

Turning, the gambler hiked an eyebrow at her.

“I’d have stuck with you all the way if you’d wanted me,” she said rapidly. “Against Tony and Bix both. You can’t blame a girl for siding with the man who’s paying her way.”

“I’m not blaming you,” he said. “I just don’t feel any responsibility for bailing out a woman who set me up for a kill.”

He opened the door and her voice rose to hysterical pitch. “Clancy! You can’t leave me here alone with Tony!”

“Maybe the cops will save you,” he suggested. “After all that shooting, the neighbors probably called in.”

He cocked his head at the sound of a distant siren. “That’s probably them on the way now. You can hope they get here before Tony pulls the trigger.” He listened again and said regretfully, “They sound pretty far away.”

“Please,” she whispered. “Can’t you give me a break?”

Ross considered her question, finally smiled and said, “Sure. I’ll give you some advice.” He nodded toward the .45 automatic the raw-boned man had dropped, which lay halfway between Audrey and Armanda. “Try for that while Tony’s reaching for his gun.”

Stepping through the door, he began to pull it shut behind him. His last sight of the girl, just before the door closed, was of her frantically diving toward the gun on the floor.

Halfway down the steps to the street he heard a single shot. He wondered which one of them had gotten it off.