Black Mask Magazine (Vol. 27, No. 2 — September 1945)
- Автор: Холлидэй Бретт, Reeves Robert
- Год: 1945
- Язык: английский
- Год: Fictioneers
- Жанр: Другие детективы
Электронная книга - «Black Mask Magazine (Vol. 27, No. 2 — September 1945)». Краткое содержание книги:
“The reason for your alcoholism, I would say, is that you’re a psychopathic inferior and the only way you can express yourself is by unleashing aggressive behavior.”
“It’s really nothing,” said Cellini modestly.
“I wouldn’t mind it if you weren’t a troublemaker. You’ve broken into my private office twice.”
“Once.”
“I know better,” snapped Howard.
“It was still once.”
“Last night one of my men walked by here and heard someone putting the receiver back on the telephone. When he entered, it was dark and the intruder got away. That’s why he was waiting for you the second time you returned. You have no business making phone calls or coming here without permission.”
“Go on.”
“Then you hit Freddy and he became sick all over my carpet. Today you attacked Mr. Coomb, a guest of Miss Collins.”
“It was a pleasure. Tell me, was this Coomb character here last night?”
“Yes, he came in late and stayed at the guest house but that is none of your concern. I’m trying to decide the treatment for you. I could give you the usual harmless medicines which create acute discomfort for the patient and tend to cause abstinence so that he won’t be subjected to the medicine again. But you’re too intelligent to be taken in with that sort of thing.”
“I certainly won’t take milk again.”
“You’ll take what we give you,” Howard said. “You’re in our care and we can be stem if necessary. We intend to cure you whether you like it or not.”
“All right,” said Cellini. “Let’s cut out the comedy. You know who I am, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Then you know I’m a private operative?”
Howard nodded.
“Fine — so I’m not interested in getting cured of anything, but I am interested in Fields who was my client.”
Again, Howard nodded.
“Now that that’s understood, I want you to do a few things for me.”
“The police are already investigating Fields’ death.”
“I don’t get along too well with them,” Cellini said. “I want access to your files on Fields and also a list of the visitors Ivy Collins has had the last few days. Also, pass the word around to your staff and patients that they would do well to answer my questions.”
Howard tugged at an earlobe. “Surely, Mr. Smith. Is that all?”
“I’ll let you know if I want something else.”
“Good. Now suppose you go to your room and rest for a while.”
Cellini stared at him.
“You see, Mr. Smith, I’ve already been warned about this obsession of yours that you are a private detective. It seems that you are sicker than I thought.”
Cellini gripped his knees and tried to speak calmly. “There’s a man from Homicide outside called Haenigson. Call him in and ask him.”
“Very well.” Howard flipped a button and spoke a few words into the telephone. They sat silently, watching each other until Haenigson appeared.
Howard asked: “Is this man a private detective?”
Haenigson looked. “I never saw him before in my life,” he said blandly and left Cellini felt a curious tingle come over him. “I tell you I’m a private dick!”
“Yes, of course.” Howard pressed a buzzer on his desk. “You will please go to your quarters now and rest. You will find it more comfortable than a detention room.”
Several attendants filed into the office. The rage within Cellini burst out suddenly and violently. Blindly, he began hitting out on all sides. He still hit and struggled as the weight of five large men bore him to the floor and he was dragged out.
Chapter Four
Dipso-Facto
Stretched out on the bed, Cellini stared at the ceiling with a hard, expressionless face. He tried not to think, tried not to remember, tried only to concentrate on a black spot in the ceiling’s comer. He did not move when he heard the key turn in the lock and someone entered.
“Now we can talk, Smith.” It was Ira Haenigson.
“I thought you didn’t know me.”
“I was playing your game. How could I guess what you were up to with Howard?”
It sounded reasonable. Cellini said: “It’s no game. Someone told him I’m cracked and that I imagine I’m a detective. At least, that’s Howard’s story.”
“We’ll get to him later,” said Haenigson. “What about Fields?”
“The suicide? I’ve been hearing rumors. I wish you’d tell me about it.”
The detective-sergeant said to the chest of drawers: “He’s been hearing rumors. He wants me to tell him about it. He just came here to read the papers.”
Cellini was forming a reply that was short and to the point when he remembered his mistake. A stupid, amateurish mistake. His prints were all over the dead man’s room and if Haenigson didn’t already know it, he would in a few hours.
Cellini turned away from the ceiling and said: “I have no interest in this thing other than being mad because my client is dead. But I’m real mad. As they say in cross-word puzzles, I’m irate and I’ll level with you if you do the same with me.”
“I’ll listen.”
“A few days ago I received a letter from Henry Fields with a hundred-dollar retainer. It said he had been shanghaied from the Kitty Klub and brought here and he wanted me to do a job because he couldn’t get out.”
“Why did he pick on you?”
“The phone book, I suppose. We’ll never know. He couldn’t have visitors so I came here the hard way through the Kitty Klub. It looks as if they shill for Howard.”
Ira Haenigson shrugged. “I’m interested in homicide.”
“You ought to try being interested just in crime some time. I managed to see Fields last night. He told me that the outfit he worked for is cutting its shares four ways so he went to a call broker and took an option on a large block of shares. The next thing he knew, he was stuck in here, getting cured of alcoholism.”
“What did he want from you?”
“He wanted someone to pick up the option on the shares before it lapsed. I figured this place was pitching a curve since they kept such close tabs on him so I went to case Howard’s office. When I got back, Fields had committed suicide.”
A short, mocking laugh escaped the detective-sergeant. “You know better.”
“You caught the wrist watch? You’re getting brighter, Haenigson. Unfortunately, we’ll never have the chance to ask more questions of Fields — and I won’t get a chance at any more dough.”
“You’ve been overpaid already, Smith, with the hundred-buck retainer, but are you sure you haven’t got another angle?”
“What would that be?”
“Are you sure you’re not going to pick up the option on those shares?”
“So you couldn’t find the receipt.” Cellini swung his legs down and sat on the edge of the bed. “Get this — if I did find any receipt and cashed it, you’d know in a half hour. In addition, no broker would honor such a transaction with a stranger. Also—”
“All right, all right. Money means nothing to you. You’re just a great big champion of justice.”
Cellini’s face twisted in a grimace. “Let’s hear what you found out?”
“Hardly worth mentioning.” Haenigson stood up. “Guess I’ll toddle along.”
“What about Howard? What will we do about him?”
“We?” asked the detective-sergeant with affected surprise. “You’ve decided to take his cure and I think it’s a wise decision. Let me know how you make out.”
“You mean you’re not going to spring me out of here?”
Ira Haenigson said pleasantly, “Of course not,” and left.
Minutes after the key had again turned in the lock, Cellini Smith still stared at the door.