Black Mask (Vol. 21, No. 8 — November, 1938)
- Автор: Баллард Уиллис Тодхантер, Cave Hugh B.
- Год: 1938
- Язык: английский
- Год: Pro-Distributors Publishing
- Жанр: Другие детективы
Электронная книга - «Black Mask (Vol. 21, No. 8 — November, 1938)». Краткое содержание книги:
Booths lined one wall and the bar extended the whole length of the other. Three white-coated bartenders lounged at the far end. Only one of the booths was occupied. Nancy approached the bar.
“Seen Frank Hobbs?”
A tall, dark man with a knife scar across the bridge of his nose shook a pock-marked face. “We have not seen him today, señorita.”
The girl hesitated. “Is Rita here?”
The man nodded. “You wish her?”
“If she isn’t busy. We’ll wait over here. Make me a Tom Collins.”
Lennox said, “Same,” and they went to the booth.
The girl who came through the small door at the end of the bar was stunning in the bright costume she wore. Her skin was creamy velvet, her hair blue-black, her features classic. As she saw Nancy her face lighted and she almost ran forward.
“Nancy!”
Nancy rose. “Rita, darling. You take my breath every time I see you.”
The girl laughed, a tiny embarrassed sound. “You are too good, but it is nice to see you, my friend.” She spoke English without a trace of accent, but awkwardly. “Too long have you stayed away.”
Nancy said, “Business! Anyhow this funny looking mugg is Bill Lennox. Maybe you’ve heard of him?”
The girl inspected Lennox with the simplicity of a child. “I have heard such nice things, and he is not funny looking. Me, I think he is very nice.”
Lennox smiled in spite of himself. “There! You see,” he told Nancy. “You don’t appreciate me.”
Nancy made room for the girl at her side. “I have to keep him in his place,” she said, smiling, then sobered. “We want to see Frank, Rita. Have you heard from him today?”
The girl shook her head. “Your cousin is angry with me because I cannot come to his party. He will not understand that I have to work.”
Nancy nodded. “Listen, Rita. Have you any idea what Frank is up to? Bill got him that job in pictures and he was doing swell. Now he’s trying to run out before the picture is finished. If he leaves now he’ll never get another job in Hollywood.”
Lennox thought the girl’s dark eyes filmed suddenly, then she brightened and was gay again.
“Surely you mistake. That is not like Frank.”
Nancy agreed. “It isn’t. Well, if he isn’t here, we’ll have to run.”
Rita stood up. “I must go now, but finish your drinks. I will see you later.” She was gone, leaving them sipping their drinks, staring silently at each other.
Finally Bill said, “Who is she?”
Nancy said, “She’s the dancer here. Her father is General Rodriguez, the one who led that last revolution. When he and his followers escaped to the United States after the revolt collapsed, they started this place. She’s a nice kid.”
Lennox agreed, his eyes narrowing suddenly as two men slid through the door at the end of the bar, paused for an instant, then came toward the booth.
Lennox’ voice was colorless as he spoke. “Hello, Morgan.”
Butcher Morgan was large, well over six feet, weighing a good two-twenty with not an ounce of fat on his hard-muscled body. The man at his side was smaller, coming hardly to Morgan’s shoulder.
Morgan nodded. “Hello, Lennox. Mind if we sit down?” He did not wait for an invitation, but crowded in at Lennox’ side.
The smaller man remained standing. For an instant his mask of a face cracked in a tiny smile of recognition for the girl. “Good day, Miss Hobbs!”
She said, “This is a surprise. Bill, do you know General Rodriguez?”
Lennox shook hands, his face not betraying his racing thoughts as he tried to figure out what an exiled Mexican patriot was doing with Butcher Morgan.
He knew Morgan well, had known him for years, ever since the man’s liquor boat had supplied thirsty Hollywood during prohibition, but he hadn’t seen Morgan for three years. He’d heard that the man had turned legitimate and built up a very profitable business in domestic wines.
The General was ill at ease. Morgan was cool, calm, collected as always. He smiled, his thick lips drawing back in what he thought was a gesture of good humor.
“Look, Bill. We’ve always been friends, haven’t we?”
Lennox’ voice was flat. “Friends?”
Dull red came up under Morgan’s thick skin. “Oh. So, you want it that way?”
Lennox said, “What way?” There was a prickly sensation at the back of his neck. “What do you want, Morgan?”
Morgan said, tonelessly, “I want you to leave Frank Hobbs alone. He’s got a little job to do, a little job that only he can do. It’s important.”
Lennox’ eyes never flickered. “The picture he’s working on is important, too.”
Morgan laughed, sound without mirth. “It depends on what you call important. I’m not kidding, Bill. I know you and I don’t want trouble with you, so I’m giving it to you straight. Don’t mess into this. Nothing’ll stop us, and the guy that tries will get hurt. Shelve your picture for a couple of weeks. I know it costs dough, but you and General Consolidated both aren’t big enough to monkey into this game. Nobody’s going to change Frank’s mind. He’s going through with this deal, and he’s going to like it.”
Nancy caught her breath sharply. “Listen to me, Butcher Morgan,” she said angrily. “I don’t know what you re talking about, and I don’t care, and I’m telling you right now that I’ll see that Frank finishes that picture.”
Lennox patted her hand. “Easy, kid.”
Morgan said, “That’s right, Bill. Tell her I’m not joking.” He rose, his big body giving the impression of driving power. “Come on, Rodriguez.”
The general looked unhappy, more ill at ease. He hesitated for a moment, then moved after Morgan.
Nancy said sharply, “Of all the nerve! When I see Frank—”
Lennox told her, flatly. “You’re not even going to mention it. You’re going to keep out of things, kid. Morgan is no one to monkey with. He means exactly what he says.”
She stared at him. “You mean you’re going to let him get away with it? You’re going to let Frank walk out on the picture?”
Lennox told her, “I didn’t say that. But I’ll do the talking. Will Frank be at his apartment tonight?”
She nodded. “He and Mike Farnero are giving a party. They live in the same building.”
He looked at her. “Mike?”
She nodded. “Yes, you know. The man who’s working with Frank on the picture. He was in Mexico with him.”
Lennox nodded. “I remember now. I hate to crash the party, but—”
She said, “You won’t be crashing. I was going to ask you anyway. Meet me over at Frank’s about eight. I’ve got to go over early and help to get things ready. And, Bill, don’t let Frank do whatever Morgan wants him to. I don’t like him mixed up with this crowd.”
The apartment house where Hobbs and Farnero lived was three-storied, built around an open court, with balconies for halls. Lennox parked his coupé in the basement garage, mounted to the third floor and went along the balcony toward the far end.
He paused before the apartment door and knocked. Beyond the door a radio played loudly, filling the air with discordant sound. He knocked again, got no response and tried the knob. It turned under his hand and he pushed it open.
The room inside was crowded, a jumbled mass of color and shouted conversation. Over it all the radio blared endlessly. No one seemed to give it heed, no one seemed to notice Lennox in the open doorway. He stood still for a moment, his eyes sweeping the room, then he saw Frank Hobbs against the far wall talking to a tall blonde.
The flyer was chubby, short. His boyish pink and white face was flushed. His eyes were bright as he turned, then they filmed as he saw Lennox.
“Hello, Bill.” It wasn’t that he lacked cordiality, but there was an odd note in his voice.