The Second Richard Deming Mystery MEGAPACK™: 23 Classic Mystery Stories
- Автор: Деминг Ричард
- Год: 2016
- Язык: английский
- Год: Wildside Press
- ISBN: 9781479423507
- Жанр: Другие детективы
Электронная книга - «The Second Richard Deming Mystery MEGAPACK™: 23 Classic Mystery Stories». Краткое содержание книги:
Of course, as Phyllis liked to point out, he had come to a dead end. The only move upward left to make would be to take over top spot from the Drennan Nash partnership, and neither partner was likely to retire voluntarily for at least another twenty-five years.
At sixteen Barney Stroud had started running numbers for the Drennan-Nash combine, which at that time was just beginning to organize the city’s divergent rackets into a single centrally-controlled organization. Mark Drennan and Johnny Nash, respectively only twenty-four and twenty-five themselves, had moved in on existing rackets with a combination of brashness, muscle and organizing knowhow which left the combine in undisputed control of local rackets by the time Barney could vote.
He had moved right along with it, rising from runner to muscle man, then to district manager and, finally, to “thumb man” in charge of all collections and payoffs.
Barney was already third man from top when he met and married Phyllis. He had been pretty proud of that position until she began belittling him as an “errand boy.” But now he did considerable dreaming about eventually moving into top spot. His dreams weren’t inspired by ruthless ambition, for actually he was quite content with his lot. It was just that he envisioned commanding his wife’s respect if he was in a position to give orders instead of taking them.
It was only idle dreaming, though. Mark Drennan was now only thirty-four and Johnny Nash thirty-five. By the time either decided to retire, Barney would be in his mid-fifties himself.
Of course premature retirement could be effected with a gun, but this was impractical.
The dream had become persistent enough to make Barney think of resolving his problem with a gun, but he had discarded the idea almost as soon as he thought of it. This wasn’t the roaring twenties, when an ambitious young hood could blast his way to the top. Modern rackets were conducted as businesses, with a minimum of headline-making violence. The general public no longer stoically accepted gang killings, and the politicians, without whose protection rackets couldn’t exist, were leery of aroused public opinion. The local officials who accepted the combine’s payoff to prevent the police from interfering with its activities would never stand still for anything even remotely resembling old-fashioned gang warfare.
Barney knew that even if he managed to beat the raps legally, he couldn’t win by using his gun on Drennan and Nash. The finger would point straight at him, and the local administration wouldn’t require legal evidence to dump him. As nobody, regardless of the guns behind him, could take over without political backing, anything as crude as murder would bounce Barney right out of the picture altogether.
So Barney Stroud merely dreamed of how nice it would be to become top dog. He didn’t really plan to do anything about it.
It was about nine p.m. Barney parked in front of Mark Drennan’s house. Ordinarily he delivered tally sheets to Johnny Nash, as Nash handled the routine business end of the partnership, while the more suave Drennan was the contact man who lined up and paid off the necessary officials. But tonight Johnny Nash was out of town and Barney had instructions to deliver tallies to Drennan whenever Nash wasn’t available.
Although Mark Drennan was a bachelor, he maintained a seven room ranch style house on Shannon Drive in one of St. Vincent’s most exclusive sections. Barney supposed it was because he liked to entertain, though most of his parties were rumored to consist of only himself and some lone woman. Drennan had the reputation of being something of a Casanova.
The front of the house was dark when Barney came up the front walk, but he noted light streaming through some French doors at the side. As he knew the French doors gave onto a small play room where there was a bar, he guessed that Drennan was there and walked around to the side.
As he approached the French doors, he saw a man and woman standing in front of the bar clasped in each other’s arms. The man, tall, lean and darkly handsome, half faced the doors so that Barney could see he was Mark Drennan. As the woman’s back was to him, he could see only that she was a slim and shapely brunette.
Barney paused, not wishing to interrupt such an intimate scene. Then the woman disengaged herself from the embrace and picked up one of two drinks setting on the bar. The movement placed her profile to Barney.
With a sense of shock Barney recognized her as Nina Nash.
He stood still, momentarily appalled at Mark Drennan’s perfidy. Even though Drennan was a notorious woman chaser, it would never have occurred to Barney that he would poach on the domain of his own partner, who was also supposed to be his best friend.
Quietly he faded back toward the front of the house. After standing indecisively for a few moments, he mounted the porch and rang the front doorbell.
A couple of minutes passed before a light went on in the front room and the door opened. There was a frown on Mark Drennan’s handsome face when he peered out, but his expression cleared when he saw who his visitor was.
“Hi, Barney,” he said. “What’s up?”
Beyond Drennan, Barney could see that the doorway to the playroom had been left open, but the room was now dark. He said, “Just the week’s tally sheets. Johnny’s out of town, you know.” He held out the manila envelope containing the tally sheets.
“Oh, yeah,” Brennan said, accepting the envelope. “I’d forgotten that.”
Forgotten it, hell, Barney thought. He’d taken full advantage of it.
“Come in for a drink?” Brennan asked without moving aside. His tone was more polite than enthusiastic.
Barney was tempted, just to see what evasive action Nina Nash would take, but he decided against it.
“No thanks,” he said. “Phyllis is waiting for me at home.”
During the drive back home Barney brooded over what he had seen. And as the shock abated, it gradually dawned on him that he had stumbled onto something which might move him right into the top slot.
No one would suspect Barney if one of the partners was gunned and the other was convicted of the crime. The idea had tentatively occurred to him once before, but he had rejected it because he couldn’t think of any motive the police would swallow. The partners got along too amicably for the police to accept that either would gun the other merely to take over control of the combine alone.
But a love triangle offered a perfect motive for murder.
When he entered the house, Phyllis was in the bar off the front room working on the invitation list for her next party. Offering a cool cheek for his kiss of hello, she asked preoccupiedly. “How’s Mark?”
“Fine,” he said.
She added a name to the list, then glanced lip. “Do you think we can skip Johnny and Nina again this time?”
Walking over behind the bar to mix himself a drink, Barney said, “They’re going to start suspecting how you feel about them, hon. And, after all, I have to get along with Johnny.”
“Yes, I suppose an errand boy can’t afford to offend the boss,” she said, making a face. “I wish you didn’t have to take orders from that man. I would have more respect for you if you quit the whole setup and went into some honest business.”
He poured soda on top of whisky. “You knew what I was when you married me.”
“Not exactly, darling. I knew you were some kind of gangster, which held a certain fascination for me, because I’d never known an underworld character before. But I didn’t realize you took orders from such a crude boor as Johnny Nash. It’s not your profession I object to. It’s probably the only one in which you could make enough money to suit me. It’s just your status in the profession that turns my stomach.”