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:
The big man shook his head.
Reaching into the carton on the floor, Ross handed a grenade into the front seat. “You’re going to step out of the car long enough to heave this through that plate-glass window in front. If I don’t like your marksmanship, you get a bullet in the middle of the back. Everything clear?”
“Yeah,” the big man said huskily.
“Then get moving.”
Pushing open the car door, the big man stepped out on the sidewalk. Carefully withdrawing the grenade’s pin, he sent it hurtling through the plate-glass window and leaped back into the car. The driver gunned the car forward and they were nearly to the corner before the explosion sounded.
Almost as an echo to the explosion a siren sounded in the distance to the south of them. They rounded the corner on two wheels. Black gave Ross an inquiring look.
“Must be heading for the Rotunda,” Ross said. “It certainly took them long enough. If they maintain that same rate of speed they’ll be getting up this way when our business is finished and we’re on our way home.
He said to the driver, “Now you can head for the Ranch House over on Spruce Street.”
Thirty minutes later the car returned to where the Lincoln and Cadillac were parked. After getting out of the car, Ross and Black stood next to it for a moment, studying the two men through the open window.
“Has it occurred to you what Bix Lawson is going to think about all this?” Ross inquired.
“Yes, sir,” the driver said. “He ain’t going to like it.”
“That’s an understatement,” Ross informed him cheerfully. “Has it also occurred to you what your boss, Whitey Cord, is going to think of it?”
“He ain’t going to like it either,” the small man said dolefully.
“Uh-huh. If either one ever catches up with you, you’ll both end up wearing cement overshoes.”
“Yes, sir.”
“So what are your plans?”
“To get out of town and head in the opposite direction from Chicago. We got to turn in this rented car first, though.”
“You can stay in town long enough to do that,” Ross said generously. “Bix pay you in advance?”
Sadly the small man shook his head. Now that it seemed the gambler and his companion had no intention of killing him, his courage was rapidly returning. “Maybe you’d want to come up with a small fee for what we did for you, Mr. Ross,” he suggested.
Ross let his eyes freeze over and the man hurriedly said, “I was just kidding.”
Tentatively he shifted into “drive,” glanced at the gambler to see if there was going to be any objection. When there wasn’t, he pulled away slowly, gradually increasing speed until, a block away, he had the gas pedal flat to the floor.
Chapter XIV
Sam Black said gloomily, “While you were impressing on those guys what Bix Lawson would do if he ever caught up with them, I kept wondering how he’s going to feel about us.”
“Who cares?” Ross said.
“I do. You think he’s going to pass off as a childish prank having three of his clubs wrecked?”
“Do you think I should have shrugged off having my one and only club wrecked?”
“I suppose not. But we might have settled for tit-for-tat and only messed up one.”
The gambler regarded him curiously. “A few hours ago you were all set to blast your way through his encircling army and pump him full of bullets.”
“A few hours ago I was mad. Now we’re more than even. He’s going to blow his top sky-high.”
“I imagine,” Ross said cheerfully.
“You haven’t got any sense,” Black complained. “Bix could raise twenty-five guns with a snap of his fingers. And our side? You’ve got a gun permit and I’ve got one. Period. That’s twelve and a half guns against each of us. I’ll be generous and let you have thirteen. I’m not about to go up against twelve guns alone. My heater only holds eight shells, with one in the chamber.”
“Start carrying an extra clip and practice fast reloading,” Ross suggested.
“Haw! And what do we do when Syndicate guns descend on us, too? Start aiming Oscar and the waiters and the cocktail hostesses?”
“You worry too much.”
“You don’t worry enough, Clancy. If the Commies passed at you, you’d declare war on Russia and expect me to handle Communist China. I’m going to see Sol tomorrow.”
“Sol Levine, the pawnbroker?”
“Uh-huh. I’m going to buy me two submachine guns and practice firing with both hands.”
“Go on home and go to bed,” Ross said.
“Home?” Black said with raised brows. “I want to check on the damage done to the club.”
Ross gave him a disgusted look. “The place will be swarming with cops by now. The first thing they’d ask if you walked in would be how you knew there was a bombing. Even the idiots they recruit for the local force would know you don’t customarily drop by for routine checks at five in the morning. I’ll go back to the club alone.”
“What makes you think they won’t wonder about you?”
“I live there,” Ross said patiently. “Remember?”
“Oh,” Black said. “Excuse me. It’s been a long day and I start to get stupid when I’m tired. I guess I’d better go to bed. See you tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” Ross said, and headed for his Lincoln.
Black crawled into his Cadillac.
There were police all over the place when Ross returned to Club Rotunda. He came in by the alley door after parking his car in the club parking lot, and found the first floor ablaze with light. Sergeant Amos Morton, his nose plastered with adhesive tape, both eyes blackened, was in charge of the investigation.
When the sergeant spotted Ross in the center of the room surveying the damage, he came over and stood in front of the gambler with his hands on his hips and his eyes glittering.
“Morning, Amos,” Ross said mildly, fixing his gaze on the nose bandage. “I heard you had a little accident.”
“Other accidents will happen to other people before I forget it,” the detective said through his teeth. “Where you been?”
“Out. What happened here?”
The sergeant glanced around, and the wreckage he saw improved his spirits. “Somebody must have tossed a grenade,” he said with a barely concealed smirk. “The night watchman from the office building next door heard the explosion, came to investigate and called in. Any idea who would do a thing like this to you?”
Ross shrugged. “I couldn’t imagine.”
“Probably some out-of-town mob,” Morton said, beginning to enjoy himself. “But don’t you worry. We’ll do everything possible to catch the bomber.”
“I never worry,” Ross told him.
The damage was as extensive as Ross had expected. Aside from the wreckage of tables and chairs, three panels of the glass bar were cracked, two huge wall mirrors shattered, the baby-grand piano on the orchestra stage damaged, several drapes shredded beyond repair, and the back bar was a shambles of broken bottles and spilled liquor. There was some consolation in the fact that the major part of the loss was covered by insurance, however. And there was further consolation in the knowledge that the three clubs of which Bix Lawson was part owner must be in much the same condition.
Ross said to Morton, “If you don’t need me for anything, I’m going up to bed. I suppose you’ll want me to stop down at headquarters later on to make some kind of statement.”
“Sure,” the sergeant said indulgently. “Get a little sleep. This afternoon will be all right. Say one p.m.”