Shills Can't Cash Chips

Chapter Four

The hotel clerk told me there were no messages for me. I told him I’d look the town over a bit and walked a couple of blocks to a taxi stand.

The taxi took me to the supermarket. I got in the car I had left parked there, drove back to the hotel and hung around until dark.

No one seemed to be taking the slightest interest in me. The rangy individual didn’t put in an appearance. Nobody seemed to care whether I came or went. There were no messages.

Shortly before dark I called the apartment of Doris Ashley.

There was no answer.

I went to a phone booth and called Elsie Brand at her apartment.

“Hello, Elsie,” I said. “How’re you coming?”

“Donald.”

“What’s the trouble, kid?”

“Some man has been telephoning and he sounds — well, dangerous.”

“It’s easy to sound dangerous,” I said. “What does he want?”

“It’s about an accident that you saw and he seems to be very— well, he’s a little annoyed about things.”

“Is that so?” I said. “How often has he called?”

“He’s called three times within the last hour. Heavens, I didn’t know what to tell him. I told him that I wasn’t aware that anyone from my apartment had given him a telephone number but that my brother was visiting me and I expected him in shortly.”

“I’ll be in shortly,” I told her. “Sit tight.”

“Donald, is this anything — well, dangerous?”

“How should I know?”

“I’m frightened.”

“You don’t need to be. I’ll be in.”

“How soon?”

“Within an hour.”

“Oh, Donald, I— You’ll be careful, won’t you?”

“That’s strange,” I said. “Usually you tell me to be good. Now you tell me to be careful.”

Her laugh was nervous. “Do you want me to cook dinner for you?”

“Might be a good idea,” I said. “That would give the place a homey atmosphere.”

“What do you want?”

“Champagne and filet mignon,” I said.

“I’m a working girl.”

“This,” I said, “is on an expense account.”

“Champagne and filet mignon it is,” she said. “You want them thick?”

“Thick.”

“Rare?”

“Rare.”

“Potatoes?”

“Baked. Don’t go to any trouble. Don’t try to make a salad or dessert. We’re just going to have steak, baked potato, champagne and perhaps a can of green peas. I’ll cook the steaks when I get there. When this bird calls again, try to get his name. Tell him that I’ve been detained but that I phoned you I was coming home in an hour and that we’ll be having dinner at that time. Tell him to come in about an hour and a half from now and I can talk with him.”

“You be sure to get here before he arrives, Donald.”

“I’ll be there,” I told her. “You buy the steaks and the champagne. Be sure to keep the bills so I’ll have a voucher for Bertha.”

“Bertha,” she announced, “will have kittens all over the lot.”

“Do her good,” I said. “Sit tight. I’m on my way.”

I hung up the phone, hit a little better traffic conditons than I had anticipated and was there within forty-five minutes.

Elsie had the champagne on ice and a couple of thick filet mignons all ready to go in the broiler. There were potatoes baking in the oven and a can of green peas. She also had a loaf of sour dough French bread split and buttered and ready to go in the oven. There was a jar of garlic paste to put on the bread as it toasted.

“Well, this is just like home,” I said.

She started to say something, caught herself, then blushed a fiery red, evidently at what she had been about to say.

“You got the bills?” I asked her.

She handed them to me.

“Did our man call again?”

“He called within seconds of when I hung up after talking with you.”

“You told him to be here?”

“Yes.”

“What did he say?”

“Said he’d be here. Said I could tell my brother that this wasn’t any laughing matter and to be absolutely positive he was telling the truth.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him my brother always told the truth, that it ran in the family.”

“Good girl,” I said. “Well, we’d better make the thing look brotherly.”

I took off my coat, unfastened my cuffs, rolled up my shirt sleeves, pulled my necktie down, opened the collar of my shirt and was looking around for something to do when the buzzer sounded.

“Answer the door,” I said to Elsie. “Tell him that your brother has just come in and ask the guy his name.

“When you introduce me, try not to give a last name. Simply say, ‘This is Donald.’ Do you get me?”

“I get you.”

“Let’s go.”

She went to the door.

The thick-set, aggressive-looking individual who stood on the threshold had bushy eyebrows, thick hair just above the ears and very little on top of the head. He wore an expensive suit but the shoes were badly in need of a shine.

“Hello,” he said. “Is your brother in— Oh, yes, I see him.”

He started in through the door.

Elsie stood in the doorway. “May I have your name, please?”

“Harry Jewett,” he said, and pushed past her into the apartment.

“You’re the brother?” he asked me.

“I’m the brother,” I said, holding the long barbecuing fork with which I had been ready to spear the steaks, “and where I come from people don’t come barging into an apartment unless they’re invited.”

“I’m sorry. I guess I was a little impulsive. I’m— This is important to me.”

“Manners are important to me,” I said, “and my sister is a lady.”

“Who said she wasn’t?”

“Your actions intimated as much.”

“Now, calm down, Junior,” he said. “I want to talk with you.”

“I’m not Junior,” I told him. “My name’s Donald and you get the hell out of that door, stand in the hallway and wait until you’re invited in or you don’t talk with anybody.”

“I thought it would be something like that,” he said.

“Like what?”

“You made a play but you don’t dare to talk.”

“I thought I was talking,” I said. “I thought I said something. I told you to get back out in the corridor.”

I advanced toward him, holding the fork.

He squared his shoulders, braced himself, then thought better of it; turned, walked back out to the corridor and knocked on the door.

Elsie, who had been standing riveted to the spot, looked toward me for instructions.

Jewett said, “Oh, good evening, madam, I’m Harry Jewett. I’m sorry to bother you at this time of night but it’s a matter of some importance to me.

“I believe your brother witnessed an automobile accident about two months ago and I’d like very much to talk with him.”

Elsie rode along with the gag. “Why, how do you do, Mr. Jewett?” she said. “I’m Elsie Brand. Won’t you come in? My brother’s here now. He just came in.”

“Thank you. Thank you very much indeed,” Jewett said, and entered the apartment.

“How’s that?” he asked me.

“That,” I said, “is better. You’re early. I haven’t eaten.”

“Won’t you be seated?” Elsie asked.

“Thank you,” he said.

Under the bushy eyebrows his eyes bored into mine. “Would you mind telling me what you saw?” he asked.

I said, “I believe there was a reward mentioned.”

“Two hundred and fifty bucks,” he said.

“I don’t like to give anything away when the other man has put a price tag on it.”

“And I don’t want to pay out money for something I can’t use. You convince me that you saw the accident and you get two hundred and fifty bucks.”

“Fair enough,” I told him.

“All right, start talking.”

I said, “It was about three-thirty in the afternoon. I was in Colinda walking along the main street — I believe that’s what they call it, Main Street. I was going north on the left-hand side of the street and was between Eighth and Seventh Streets. In fact I was approaching the intersection of Seventh Street and was looking up at the traffic signal to see how it was going because I wanted to go over to the east side of Main street and wanted to time it so I could cross with the signal.”

“Go ahead,” he said.

“There was a string of cars — I’d guess about four — approaching the signal. The light turned from green to amber, and the car that was in the lead could have made it easily before the signal turned to red, but instead the driver lost his nerve and slammed on his brakes, hard. The car came to an almost instantaneous stop.

“The car behind him braked to a stop just in time to keep from hitting him. The third car was a light sports car with the top down. It was driven by a quite good-looking girl. The car behind her was going pretty fast. The driver had evidently swung out to the left to try and get around the string of traffic because—”

“How do you know that?”

“When I saw him he was swerving back to the right again and going pretty fast.”

“What happened?”

“That’s about it. The man in the back car, which was a big Buick, ran into the girl in the sports car. He hit her a pretty good jolt. Her car was stopped at the time of the impact. In fact, she’d been stopped for a couple of seconds.”

“Did she act injured in any way?”

“She didn’t act injured except her neck seemed to be hurting her. She kept holding one of her hands against the back of her neck.”

“The hell she did.”

I said, “She got quite a jolt when the car hit because the blow was unexpected. I saw her head snap back.”

“Did she stop?”

“She was stopped before he ever hit her.”

“All right. What happened?”

“Well, they both got out and talked for a minute. Then the girl drove on. The man went to the front of his car, took a look at it, shrugged his shoulders, got in and drove off. The radiator had been punctured, I think, because he was leaving a stream of water on the highway.

“That’s all I saw. I guess I missed one or perhaps two traffic signals standing there looking at them.”

“Did you take down the license numbers?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Would you know either of these people if you saw them again?”

“Sure. I had a good look at them.”

“Describe the man.”

“Well, he was a big tall fellow — looked something like a Texan. He was wearing a brown suit and a sport shirt.”

“How old?”

“Oh, forty — forty-two or three.”

“Tall?”

“All of six foot two. Sort of a good-natured chap. I saw him smiling, despite the fact the front of his car was caved in. He had a close-cropped mustache.”

“What time was this?”

“Right around three-thirty, give or take a few minutes either way.”

“And the date?”

“The thirteenth of August.”

Jewett said, “I’m going to show you a picture. It may or may not mean anything. Of course I know it’s a job to recognize a man from a photograph but I want you to try it.”

He pulled a billfold from his pocket, took out a photograph of Carter Holgate. It was a fairly good snapshot showing Holgate and Jewett standing side by side at the entrance to the subdivision with the sign: HOLGATE & MAXTON — BREEZEMORE TERRACE ESTATES.

“You recognize either of those people?” he asked.

“Sure,” I said. “That’s you on the right.”

“And the one on the left?”

“That,” I said with firm conviction, “is the man who was driving the car that ran into the girl’s car.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Jewett slowly and reluctantly put the billfold back in his pocket. “Where can I reach you?” he asked.

“Through Elsie here. I always keep in touch with her.”

“You going to be living here?”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “She’s putting me up for a couple of days. I’m on my way.”

“Where to?”

“I’m not sure.”

Jewett hesitated for a moment, then extracted two one-hundred-dollar bills and a fifty-dollar bill from his wallet and handed them to me.

“What am I supposed to do now in return for this money?” I asked.

“Not a damned thing,” he said. “Just not a single damned thing.”

“Should I know the name of the man who’s standing next to you in the photograph?”

“Why?”

“So I can tell him I saw the accident.”

“Whose fault was it?”

“It was his fault.”

“Do you think he’d like to have a witness who could go on the stand and swear it was his fault?”

I fingered the two hundred and fifty dollars and said, “Well, somebody seems anxious to have a witness.”

“You’ve answered the ad,” he said. “You’ve got the two hundred and fifty. Now, forget it.”

“What do you mean, forget it?”

“Just like I told you,” he said. “Forget it.”

He got up out of the chair with the ease of a trained athlete, walked to the door, turned, looked Elsie Brand over from head to foot and said, “Thanks. I’m sorry I bothered you and I’m sorry I was rude. I really am sorry.”

He walked out and pulled the door shut behind him.

Elsie looked at me. I could see that her knees were rubbery.

“Donald, who was he?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “The only thing I’m willing to bet is that I can tell you who he wasn’t.”

“Well, who wasn’t he?”

“He wasn’t Harry Jewett,” I said.

“What makes you think that?”

“The initial on his cuff links was M. He had an M embroidered on his necktie. The photograph showed the two of them standing under a sign of Holgate and Maxton. The big man with him was Holgate. I have an idea this may have been Christopher Maxton.”

“Oh,” she said.

I handed her the two hundred and fifty dollars.

“Go buy yourself some socks, Elsie.”

“Why, Donald— What do you—”

“This is money on the side,” I said. “Get yourself some socks.”

“But Donald, you’ll have to turn that in.”

“Turn it in on what?”

“As a credit.”

“A credit for what?”

“For the money that was paid to you — you know, against whatever expenses you’re charging.”

I shook my head. “This is side pickings, Elsie. Get yourself some nice sheer nylon stockings. Wear them around the office and be as generous as possible.”

Her face got red again. “Donald!” she said.

I kept holding out the bills and after a moment she took them.