She’ll Hate Me Tomorrow
- Автор: Деминг Ричард
- Год: 1963
- Язык: английский
- Год: Monarch Books
- Жанр: Криминальные детективы
Электронная книга - «She’ll Hate Me Tomorrow». Краткое содержание книги:
As soon as the last employee had departed and the club was locked up for the night, Ross and Black left by the rear door and climbed into their respective cars. They drove from opposite ends of the alley and rounded to the street in front of the club. Black parked his Cadillac at the north end of the block, facing south; Ross parked his Lincoln at the south end, facing north.
With motors running, they sat in their cars and waited.
Every time headlights appeared from either direction, both men dropped sidewise in their seats so that it would appear their cars were unoccupied. There were few cars on the street at that time of night, so this didn’t happen very often. Most of the time they merely sat and waited.
It was three-thirty in the morning and both men had been up and down in their seats a dozen times when the car they were waiting for finally arrived. It came from behind Ross, its headlights sweeping through the Lincoln’s rear window as Ross lay below the line of vision.
The gambler didn’t risk raising his head for a peek even when he heard the car brake to a halt in front of the club. He heard one of its doors open; there was the crash of glass, and then the car gunned away. Its motor was roaring at top speed before the dull explosion came from within the building.
Ross came erect and shifted into drive just in time to see the bomber’s taillights swing left at the intersection where Sam Black was parked. Without switching on his lights, he took off in pursuit, his throttle to the floorboards. He made the intersection in time to see the red taillights turn right a block farther on. As he rounded the corner, he saw Black’s Cadillac begin to swing in a U-turn behind him.
Apparently the driver of the bomber’s car felt that this maneuvering was enough to throw off any possible pursuit. Even this small bit of evasion was probably the result of habit rather than fear, as there was no reason for the car to expect immediate pursuit.
After his second turn, the driver of the lead car in the parade dropped his speed to the legal limit and drove straight north for several blocks. At Green Street he turned left to Eighth Street, then north again. A block and a half behind him Ross followed without lights, and Sam Black brought up the rear another block and a half behind Ross.
When the lead car began to slow down just short of the James Harvey housing development, Ross switched on his dimmers and closed the distance between them. The bomber’s car pulled over to the curb and parked.
Apparently the occupants of the bomb car were so sure they couldn’t have been followed, they only glanced casually at the Lincoln as it neared. Ross drew abreast. Both men had gotten out of the car and were approaching another car parked immediately in front of it.
Obviously the car used in the bombing was a stolen one; it was now being abandoned and the men were switching to their own vehicle.
Ross pulled ahead of the second car, braked, and neatly backed in to the curb. The two men were still unsuspecting, probably assuming he was a resident of the development coming home late. Both men were on the street side of the car, the driver in the act of opening the front door and the other man opening the rear door to lay on the floor a box he was carrying, when Ross stepped from the Lincoln.
Before either recognized who he was, they were covered by his .38 revolver.
The two men stared at him stupidly. The driver was a small, slightly built man with narrow features and a weak chin. The other man had the battered appearance of an ex-heavyweight fighter. Both were strangers to Ross, but apparently they knew who he was.
The driver said in a panic-stricken squeak, “Clancy Ross!” and the heavier man stared at him unbelievingly.
Sam Black’s Cadillac slowly passed by, stopped ahead, and backed in to the curb in front of Ross’ Lincoln.
Ross eyed the cardboard carton the big man still held in his hands. “Brought a whole case of grenades along, did you?” he asked. “How many left in the box?”
The big man wet his lips and remained silent. After a moment Ross centered his pistol on the man’s belt buckle and drew back the hammer.
At the loud click the man said hurriedly, “Five, Mr. Ross.”
Sam Black asked, “Five what?”
“Grenades,” Ross told him.
“Hmm. Shall we make them eat them?”
Ross shook his head. “Put them on the rear floor as you started to,” he ordered the heavy man.
When the man had obeyed, the gambler glanced up and down the street and, seeing it was deserted, ordered both men to lean forward on their hands against the side of the car. While they were in this defenseless position, he shook down the heavy man. Black handled the driver. They found a pistol on each and tossed them into the back seat of the car.
“Now both of you climb in front,” Ross said.
When they were side by side in the front seat, Ross and Black slid into the back.
“Shall we do it here?” Black inquired, producing his automatic. “Or let them drive down to the river where it will be more convenient to dump them?”
The men in the front seat, facing forward, were very still.
“We won’t do it anywhere until I get a little information out of them,” Ross said. “Where you boys from?”
When neither answered, the gambler said, matter-of-factly, “That’s the last time I ask a question twice. Next time I don’t get an answer fast, I’ll blow holes in both your heads.”
“Chicago,” the small driver squeaked.
“Work for Whitey Cord?”
“Yes, sir, ordinarily. But he didn’t send us on this job.”
“Just loaned you out, huh?”
“Yes, sir.”
“To Bix Lawson?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How’d you get here so fast?” Ross asked curiously. “Bix couldn’t have started planning this earlier than last night.”
In a trembling voice the driver said, “He phoned Whitey and the boss had us take a plane. It’s only a couple of hours.”
After a few moments of silence, Ross asked, “Know what we’re going to do to you?”
“No, sir.”
“We’re going to give you a sporting chance to get out of town alive. What do say to that?”
The driver gulped and said, “Thank you, sir.”
“Maybe you won’t feel so grateful when you learn what the chance is. I’ll give you boys two choices. The first is for the four of us to drive down to the river and for my partner and me to drive back without you. The other’s to do exactly as I say for about an hour and then get turned loose. Which do you pick?”
“The second,” the driver said promptly.
“You, too?” Ross asked the other man.
“Yeah,” the big man said huskily.
“Know where the Club Silhouette is?” Ross asked the driver.
“No, sir.”
“On Green, just this side of Grand. Take a run over that way.”
The driver started the car. En route to their destination there was no conversation, but Sam Black furnished some sound-effects. Periodically he drew back the slide of his automatic part-way and let it slam home again. It seemed to make the men in front nervous.
As they approached the club, Ross ordered the driver to double park in front and leave the motor running.
“Take a look, Sam,” he said.
Climbing from the car, Black went over to peer through the plate-glass front window. A night light over the bar gave him a clear view of the club’s interior. He studied it thoroughly before returning to the car.
“Empty as a casket,” he announced. “What’d you expect? None of these joints have night watchmen.”
“Ever hear of a night inventory?” Ross asked. “We don’t want any innocent bystanders on our consciences.” To the men in front he said, “Bix Lawson owns a half interest in this club. Plus half interest in a couple of others named the Ranch House and the Golden Dog. You, hefty. Know what you’re going to do now?”