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:
The man’s dark eyes filmed with caution. “I am not certain she is here, señor. Her first dance is not until ten.”
Something in the man’s manner made Bill think the waiter might be lying. He said, “It’s important. She’ll regret it if she misses me. See if you can find her.”
He sat in one of the booths for fifteen minutes. He’d about decided that the waiter had told him the truth when he saw Rita come hurriedly through the door at the end of the bar. She came forward a little hesitantly, a little cautiously and paused beside the table. “You wished to see me, señor?”
He nodded. “You remember me, don’t you? I was here with Miss Hobbs yesterday.”
She bent her head slightly. He had the feeling that she was fending him off, holding him at sword’s point.
He went on, “I thought I’d come over and tell you that Frank Hobbs escaped from jail this afternoon.” He was watching her closely, but couldn’t be certain whether or not the news surprised her.
He leaned closer. “I also came to tell you that Butcher Morgan and your father are holding Nancy Hobbs prisoner.”
Her eyes flickered. “They are? Why?”
“I don’t know but I suspect that they’re planning to use the fact to force Frank Hobbs to do something for them.”
Her eyes were half closed. “And why do you tell me this?”
“Because I think you’re a friend of Hobbs. I think that you’re in love with him.”
She started to speak, but he stopped her. “Wait. I still don’t know what they want of Frank Hobbs, but I do know this. If you care anything about him at all, you’d better throw in and help me. He’s suspected of murder. They broke him out of jail. Spellman, the head of the Homicide squad, is plenty red-headed about it. There’s a general pick-up order out for Frank and I suspect the boys have been ordered to shoot to kill.”
She drew her breath sharpy. “But what can I do?”
He told her, tensely, “You can find out for me where they are holding Nancy Hobbs; where they are holding Frank.”
“You ask a lot, señor.”
“Not so much as you think. I don’t care what your father’s game is. He can promote all the revolutions he wants to.”
Her eyes changed. “You know that? Frank told you?”
He said, “No one needed to tell me. It’s easy enough to figure out. What I don’t savvy is where Morgan comes into it.” Watching her it seemed to him that she exhaled in relief.
Her words were careful, stilted. “Morgan is helping. He is our friend.”
Lennox grunted. “No doubt he’s your friend, but I’ll bet my last dollar there’s something in it for Butcher Morgan — you can be sure of that.”
She said, rising, “I will see what I can do. No! It would be better if you came with me.” She walked down the room, Lennox at her heels, pushed open the door at the end of the bar. It opened on a concrete-paved passage, the walls of rough brick. She led him down to a door at the end, shoved it open.
“If you will wait here a moment...”
He stepped past her, hesitated, started to turn, but he was too late. With surprising strength, the girl put a hand into the center of his back and pushed. Lennox stumbled, trying to gain his balance, to swing around. But the door clicked shut before he could reach it and he heard the bolt shot into place.
He swore under his breath, grasped the knob and tried to pull it open, failed, then he turned back to examine his prison. The place was evidently a storeroom for the bar. Cases of bottled liquor were piled against the wall. A single fly-specked bulb gave what little light there was. There was nothing else in the room.
The weight of the gun he had taken from Morgan’s man felt comforting in his pocket. He pulled it out, intending to drive a slug through the door’s lock, then changed his mind. He didn’t want to start anything yet, not until he found Nancy. He looked at the gun thoughtfully. Without doubt, the girl, Rita, had gone for help. That meant that he would be searched as soon as they returned. He tried to figure what to do with the gun.
It was too big to slide into the sleeve of his coat. Finally he stooped over, shoved it down into the top of his sock and pulled the supporter over the rubber grip. Unless he jiggled too much it would stay there. He’d hardly straightened when there was a noise at the door.
It opened and the chalk-eyed man with whom he’d played cards entered, with Morgan at his heels. The chalk-eyed man said, “Well, hell! This is pretty nice!” He was grinning evilly. “You owe me a hundred and twelve bucks, sport.”
Lennox nodded. “That’s right. I’m sorry I forgot about it, but I left in such a hurry.”
Morgan grunted. “What’s this?”
Lennox said, easily, “Just a gambling debt. Your boy friend’s a good pinocle player. He should go in for it in a large way. But I can still show him a few tricks with a deck of cards.”
The man swore. “You won’t be so cocky when I get through working you over.”
Morgan snapped, “Shut up and fan him”
The man stepped forward and ran a hand over Lennox, failed to find the gun. “He’s clean.” He found the leather billfold in Bill’s hip pocket, drew it out, then he examined the contents and sucked his breath. “Two hundred and ninety dollars,” he whistled. “That about makes us even. I’ll keep the rest for interest.”
“Stop clowning,” Morgan told him sharply. “We’ve got work to do. Bring the punk along.”
Lennox went down the hall between them, walking carefully. The gun against his leg was heavy, awkward. The room they entered was larger, better furnished than the storeroom.
Nancy Hobbs was in a straight chair against the wall. Her cousin sat on a big sofa, the handcuffs still on his wrists. Evidently the gang hadn’t bothered to take them off. Rita was standing at his side, one hand about his shoulder.
Morgan walked over to Nancy’s side, stood above her. “You’ve been holding out, Babe, saying that Lennox would do something. Well, here’s Lennox, and he’s not going to do a thing.”
Her face was white, but she didn’t open her mouth. Rita ran her hand through Frank Hobbs’ hair. “Where are they. Frank mio? We have the boat waiting. There is no time to lose.”
Hobbs’ voice was sullen. “Tell me who killed Mike Farnero and I’ll talk, but, until you do, I won’t say a word. Who killed him?”
The dancer’s dark eyes were unreadable. “You’re being stupid. We did not kill Mike. Mike was our friend.”
Hobbs glared at Morgan. “You’re kidding me. Both you and Rodriguez were talking to Mike when I went upstairs. You were arguing then. Which one of you killed him?”
The former liquor csar swore. “You’ve got it wrong, Hobbs. Why the hell would we kill Farnero? The only argument we had with him was about you. He didn’t want to fly our guns across the Border, and we wanted you to. That would have been a plenty dumb trick — for us to kill him, wouldn’t it? What in the hell would we buy ourselves? You’d already agreed to go through with our deal.”
Lennox said, “I thought you wanted him for flying and I guessed it was to fly guns.”
They paid him no attention.
Hobbs shook his head stubbornly. “You don’t get those guns until I find out who killed Mike.”
Morgan’s face changed. “Oke, if you want to be tough about it. We’ll put a little pressure on you. You think a lot of your cousin, don’t you?” He swung toward Nancy, motioned the chalk-eyed man forward.
“Get her shoes off, Pete. We’ll see if a couple blistered feet will make Hobbs open up.”
Lennox yelled, “Lay off that, Butcher. If you go pushing Nancy around, I’ll make you wish—”
Morgan took two short strides and hit Lennox in the face. The blow knocked Lennox off balance, sent him crashing backwards into a chair.