Black Mask Magazine (Vol. 24, No. 9 — January, 1942)
- Автор: Reeves Robert, Champion D. L.
- Год: 1942
- Язык: английский
- Год: Fictioneers
- Жанр: Другие детективы
Электронная книга - «Black Mask Magazine (Vol. 24, No. 9 — January, 1942)». Краткое содержание книги:
“They got him all right,” said Wooley. “But with bullets. He’s dead.”
Sackler clapped a hand to his head. The blood came back into Elmer Justis’ cheeks.
“He came quietly enough at first,” said Wooley. “But on the way to the station-house the boys told him what you’d already told me. That Joey’s snatch hadn’t worked. Big Joe said he was damned if he was going to burn. He snatched a copper’s gun and started shooting. They shot back. Big Joe’s in the morgue at this moment.”
Sackler’s shoulders sagged. His face was suddenly haggard and there was pain in his eyes. He uttered a groan that would not have been out of place at the Wailing Wall.
“Well, Mr. Sackler,” said Bellows, “it certainly isn’t your fault, even if we can’t get a conviction. At least I’m cleared. That, after all, is what we were paying you for.”
“You’re cleared?” said Sackler as if that were the last thing he had been thinking of. “Who gives a damn about clearing you? The Diamond Dealers’ Association says specifically: arrest and conviction. Those dumb coppers are plucking twenty-five hundred slugs out of my pocket.”
“Well, gentlemen,” said Justis rising, “if there isn’t anything else at the moment, I’ll be running along.”
“Wait,” said Sackler. “Wooley, don’t let him go. I’ll think of something. I must think of something.”
I smiled happily. I examined the innermost core of my heart. I discovered that my interest in the triumph of justice was not so intense as my desire to see Sackler lose twenty-five hundred dollars.
All of us, even Justis, watched him with interest. There was anguish in his eyes and the tortured frown on his brow was shaped like a grieving pretzel. Every brain cell had been drafted in a titanic battle for twenty-five hundred dollars.
He looked up suddenly. There was a familiar glint in his eye and his brow was clear again. He glanced across the room to Hymie and Mike. Then he looked at me. His eyes clouded again for a moment. He reached in his pocket, withdrew a worn leather purse and extracted fifty cents.
“Joey,” he said, “will you run down to the corner and get two decks of cigarettes? I’m all out and you can get one for yourself.”
“There are plenty of cigarettes here,” said Bellows. “In that box there.”
Sackler shook his head. “I’ve been smoking yours all afternoon,” he said apologetically. “Go ahead, Joey.”
I blinked at him. Sackler’s worrying about smoking someone else’s butts astonished me. Moreover, he’d never bought me a package of cigarettes since I’d known him. I took the fifty cents from his hand, suspicion welling up within me like erupting lava.
I donned my hat, walked from the apartment and closed the door behind me. I stood in one place and moved my feet up and down achieving the sound effect of diminuendo footsteps. There was something very screwy going on in Sackler’s mind. I wanted to know what it was. I jammed my ear against the panel of the door and listened.
“I should have seen it before,” Sackler was saying. “Hymie and Mike are the answer, Wooley. It’s easy.”
“Explain it,” said Wooley.
“They’re Angers’ thugs. They were in on the deal all the way. They probably did none of the killing. Big Joe always does that himself. But they stuck me up for the check. They snatched Joey and myself. They know the whole story as well as Big Joe himself. They’ll talk.”
“I ain’t saying nothing at all.” This was Hymie’s voice.
“Oh, yes, you are,” said Sackler. “Look at it this way. Talk and you’ll be open for an accessory rap. Since you’ve turned state’s evidence, you’ll beat it with a few years.”
“Rot,” said Justis. “If they don’t talk you can’t put a finger on them. Why should they turn state’s evidence?”
“If they don’t talk,” said Sackler, “God help them. They’ll be held on a kidnapping rap. They’ll get life.”
There was a long silence. Then Mike said: “You mean if we play it your way you’ll keep your mouth shut about the kidnapping?”
“Exactly,” said Sackler. “Now will you sign a confession implicating Justis, here and now?”
There was a second silence. Then, “Yeah,” said Mike. “Yeah,” said Hymie.
“O.K.,” said Sackler. “Wooley, get a stenographer.”
I grinned happily to myself. I tossed the half dollar Sackler had given me and caught it gaily. I went out of the house and bought two decks of butts. I took my time about coming back.
I timed my entrance nicely. The police stenographer had just pulled the typewritten sheets out of his portable typewriter. Wooley took them and handed them to Mike and Hymie. Justis, across the room, stared at Sackler as if he were a snake.
Sackler saw me, nodded hastily, and forced his fountain pen into Hymie’s hand. I drew a deep breath and made my play.
“By the way, Inspector,” I said, “I want those two men there held for kidnapping. They snatched me forcibly this afternoon.”
Hymie dropped the pen as if it were a scorpion. Wooley uttered an oath, Sackler glared at me and there was sudden hope in Justis’ eyes.
“Well,” said Mike with finality, “that sort of changes things.”
“Listen, Joey,” said Sackler, “I don’t think you ought to press that kidnapping charge.”
“No? I thought we stood for law and order. I thought we stood for virtue. I thought—”
“Shut up,” said Sackler, “I know what you’re driving at.”
“Good,” I said. “How much?”
Sackler licked his lips and swallowed something in his throat. Wooley said testily: “What the devil are you guys talking about?”
Sackler said, not without a terrible effort, “Ten per cent?”
I said, with no effort whatever, “Twenty?”
It may have been a trick of the sunlight but I thought I saw a tear in his eye as he nodded.
“Very well,” I said. “I was not kidnapped. I went with those two mugs of my own free will. I say this before witnesses. I shall make no attempt to press my trumped-up charge.”
Wooley picked up the pen. “All right,” he said. “Now will you sign?”
I beamed happily around the room as they signed. It was difficult to tell at the moment whether Justis or Sackler was more disturbed.
On the way back to the office, Sackler said, low fury in his tone: “Joey, you are a low, black-hearted eavesdropper. You listened at the door.”
I smiled sweetly. “That I did.”
“You are a blackmailing hound. You have no loyalty to your employer.”
“Loyalty?” I said. “What about you? I was the guy they wanted to snatch. I was the guy to make the complaint, if any. Not you. You deliberately got me out of the room, hoping everything would be in the bag by the time I got back, so I wouldn’t know what you were doing. You didn’t even care if I did make the complaint after you had the confession signed and sealed. You were afraid I’d do what I did do. Threaten to screw up the signing until I got my rightful cut of the reward.”
He shook his head and sighed. “What about the cigarettes? And my change.”
I gave him a deck of cigarettes. I gave him eighteen cents change. He weighed it in the palm of his hand for a long time.
“Joey,” he said slowly, “under the circumstances I think you should pay for your own cigarettes. Give me another sixteen cents.”
Personally, I believe that all Scotsmen are a horde of profligate spendthrifts.
The Parrot That Wouldn’t Talk
by Walter C. Brown