Mard asked: “Is that right?”
“Right.”
Mard said to Wendeclass="underline" “You see. I tell you when the amount of money involved is as great as in this case, nothing is impossible.”
Wendel lost a lot of bluster. “Do you mean to say that three men were waiting in the hotel to murder me?”
“That’s the idea.”
“Can you prove that?”
“I don’t know yet. I don’t think I’ll have to prove it.”
“What d’ya mean by that statement? Connell, I demand that you give me the facts in your possession.”
I said: “Oh nuts! You’d screw things up if I did. Let it work out; it will. Now I want you to go to the phone and get Crandall on the wire. Insist on one thing. An appointment for eleven-thirty tonight. Tell him you’ll be ready to discuss terms of settlement at that time. Make it at his office. If he objects to that hour, tell him you’re sick of the whole dirty mess and want to pay off and leave in the morning.”
“I refuse to do any such thing. Eleven-thirty at night is no hour to talk business. I’ve lost my faith in you, Connell, I’ll tell you frankly. I’ll see Mr. Crandall at a reasonable hour in the morning.”
Macintosh stepped ahead of me and said: “You’ll do as you’re told, for once in your life, at least. You’re fooling with murder and a man is trying to save your life and you’re fighting him. Use your head, man. This isn’t a country or a people you know. I’ll tell you now that Connell knows exactly what he’s doing. He wouldn’t have the co-operation he’s getting if he didn’t.”
I couldn’t see his face but he must have looked very convincing. Wendel stepped back, said: “But... but... Who are you, sir?”
Macintosh said: “The name is Macintosh. I work for the Government, if that means anything. I’m concerned with more than a divorce case, mister... the Government isn’t paying them attention as yet.”
I said to Wendeclass="underline" “For Christ’s sake, man, use sense. Work it our way and it will all be over. This is serious; murder always is.”
“I still refuse to believe I’m in any danger.”
I said: “I bet that maid your wife had thought the same thing. But it didn’t keep a knife out of her neck, did it? Now will you go to the phone and make that date with Crandall? We’ve got things to do before then. Better make it for twelve, at that.”
“He’ll probably refuse to see me at that hour.”
Mard said: “People don’t refuse money at any hour of the day or night, Mr. Wendel. At least they don’t in Reno.”
Wendel went to the phone. He acted as if the whole thing was silly, and as though he didn’t approve of what he was doing, but he went. He got Crandall, told him he’d like to see him at twelve, and I could hear the phone crackle when Crandall talked back at him. This made Wendel sore. He snapped back:
“Now listen. I tell you I want to talk to you at twelve tonight. I can’t talk with you now; I’m busy. If you don’t care to see me at twelve, say so. I can go back East and let this matter go to court, if that’s what you want.”
He said, in a much softer voice a minute later: “Twelve at your office then. Mr. Crandall. Yes, I’ll have Mr. Mard with me. At twelve then.”
He hung up the phone and turned, with his lower lip sticking out in a pout, and said, “Is that all now, gentlemen?”
Macintosh said: “Practically all. I’ll have to ask you to stay in this room with Mr. Mard until we come back for you. We’ll keep that appointment with you, you know.”
Wendel asked: “And what if I don’t choose to do that?”
This got Macintosh finally. He roared out: “By the Almighty God! I’ll tell you what! I’ll cuff you to that bed, you young whipper-snapper, and lock the door on you. I’ve put in too much work on this case to have it screwed up by a young fool that doesn’t realize what people are trying to do for him.”
Wendel said: “I’m paying Connell for what he does,” but he said it in a weak voice and started backing away from Macintosh.
Macintosh said: “You didn’t pay Connell to stand on the street and make a God-damned target of himself for a sharpshooter across the street. They don’t make the kind of money that pays for things like that. He started out on a simple little divorce case and ended up in a murder. You don’t pay for that, mister.”
Mard said soothingly: “I’m sure Mr. Wendel will wait here with me. Won’t you, Wendel?”
Wendel said: “Yes!”
Macintosh snorted and said: “I’d hate like hell to come back and find him not here. Come on, Connell.”
Lester said to me: “Can I come too?” There’d been so many hard words that I’d hardly had a chance to look at him. He was sitting over in the corner with a bright and interested look and watching Macintosh and me through his goggles as though he’d never properly looked at us before. I looked at Mac and nodded the least bit and Mac said:
“I guess so. He can stay back, if it gets rough.”
Lester almost ran to the door before either of us changed our minds. The three of us went out and Macintosh crumbled: “I should take lip from a guy like that. What in the hell! All he’s got is a bunch of money and I got a job of work to do.”
Lester asked him: “Are you really a G-man?”
Mac said: “I guess you’d call me that.”
Lester looked at him as though he was getting a peek at God and said: “I’ve always wanted to know a G-man. I take a great interest in the laboratory course you men have the opportunity of studying. It must be very interesting.”
Mac said: “Hell, kid, I’ve never been east of the Mississippi River. I wouldn’t fool you. I’m the other sort of G-man that just works by guess and by God.”
I said: “Lester, what Mr. Macintosh is trying to say is this. He works on the special duty that his knowledge of the country and people fit him for. He’s a specialist, as it were.”
Lester said: “I understand,” and looked disappointed. I felt sorry for the kid; finding a God was made out of common clay must have hurt him as badly as when he discovered the Santa Claus story was false.
We got in Macintosh’s sedan and went to the Station and picked up Kirby and one other cop. Kirby looked askance at Lester and I said: “He’ll stay behind, out of the way, when the going gets rough.”
Kirby grunted and Lester looked hurt. Macintosh grinned and said: “It’s liable to get rough right soon,” and headed the car toward the cribs.
I said: “Lester, you stay in the car.”
Macintosh said: “What the hell, Connell. He ain’t made of sugar or salt. Don’t make a baby of him.”
I said: “Okey! Lester, you can come along for the ride.”
Lester beamed and wiggled a bit on the seat. He looked over at Macintosh and, from the look, I could see God was back on earth again.
Lester wanted to see fast action... even if he didn’t understand it. Mac was giving it to him.
Chapter Twenty-One
There were forty-eight of the cribs and they were set in the shape of a horseshoe. Two long lines of little attached bungalow affairs and with a dance hall at the back. To get inside the horseshoe you had to go down a sort of lane, with a high board fence enclosing it on each side, then turn to the right. Then you passed a little police booth, where a copper was on duty all the time. I suppose in case of disturbances; drunks and the girls fighting among themselves.
The cop had a book with the girls’ names, ages, weights, and full descriptions in it. And with their records, if any. The record part was supposed to be checked but that’s a hard thing to do; the girls changed all the time. The whole thing was legal, with the city taking a cut on the take.
We sailed down the alley, turned by the booth, and Macintosh stopped there and said: “Who’s new, Joe?” to the young copper in the booth.