I thought about a letter that had arrived in my office that day, from the county attorney in the adjoining Thomas County. Old K. L. Johnson had written me: “... I can’t remember when the people here have been as stirred up as they are about the murder of Officer Davis. Of course, the public knows nothing about Waner, which is just as well. I only wish Officer Davis hadn’t found out what Waner is trying to do — at least not before the situation could be explained to him. I am morally certain that Waner is responsible for the killing, but there is not one iota of proof... So the final burden of disposing of the matter must rest on you people over there. From Waner’s cocksure attitude, I feel sure he suspects nothing...”
I watched insects fluttering around the porch light.
I remembered something my father used to say: The best way to stop a fire, is to jump on it with both feet — while it’s still a spark.
A car stopped on the graveled street in front of the house. Two men got out, came along the path to the front porch. I unhooked the screen door and opened it. “Mr. Waner?”
“Right.”
The pair came up on the porch, brushed past me into the living-room. They didn’t wait for invitations.
One was a short, tough-looking guy who asked me, “Who’s here beside you?”
“My family. All asleep.”
“I’ll look around.”
“No you won’t,” I said.
Quickly, the other man, Waner himself, stepped in front of his friend and said, “Don’t be silly, Tom.” To me he said, “You’ll have to pardon our lack of manners, Mr. Gates. We’ve done a lot of traveling today and had car trouble to boot. That’s why we’re so late calling on you.”
Waner was a tall, solidly-built man with an earnest, friendly face, and a shock of white hair like spun glass. He made me think of a big-time salesman, the kind who sells yachts and country estates.
It figured, of course.
The other character had “gorilla” written all over him.
I motioned them to chairs, and when we were seated Waner looked me over, chuckled, and said, “I’d expected to find an older man. It’s amazing that a young fellow like you should already be such a power in state politics. Why, in the last few days my group has visited fourteen counties, and in all of them the officials have told us the same thing, ‘See Lon Gates. What he says goes in this part of the state.’ So... here I am.”
I tried to look flattered.
Waner went on, “It seems that you are the key man in this section of the state. If we can persuade you to join the organization we represent, the whole southern tier of counties will fall in line. You’re a big man, Mr. Gates.”
I’m big alright. Six feet tall by two-hundred pounds. But that’s the only way I’m big. Now I glanced at my watch. Waner took the hint.
“We can have a full discussion tomorrow,” he said. “Get into details For tonight, I’ll give you just a brief rundown. Alright?”
“Umm,” I said.
“As you know, there is a regrouping going on in your State. Old, corrupt political machines are being booted out to make way for new men with new, progressive ideas — men like yourself. This is a poor state. One of the poorest in the nation. But it doesn’t have to be that way. No indeed.”
Waner looked at me expectantly. His white hair glistened in the lamplight. His companion, Tom, or whatever his name was, just sat in his chair looking at nothing.
“What is this — er — organization you mentioned?” I asked.
“Businessmen,” Warner said in a reverent tone. “Big businessmen. From all over the country. All banded together for mutual progress.”
I yawned, watching Waner closely through half-shut eyes. “Uh huh. In other words, the syndicate.”
Waner’s bushy eyebrows climbed. “Why, ah...”
“How much?” I said. “For me.”
He obviously hadn’t expected it to be quite so easy. His mouth curved in a pleased smile. He relaxed, leaned back and lit a cigar.
But the other one, Tom, got up and prowled the room. He paid special attention to the few pictures on the walls, the lamp bases, and so on.
I told him sardonically, “The place isn’t bugged. I doubt if there’s a tape-recorder in this whole country.”
Tom turned, scowled down at me. “Wise guy.”
Waner waved him back to a chair.
“Okay, let’s talk business,” I said impatiently. “As I understand the situation from reports I’ve had, the national syndicate is ready to move on this state. Open it up. The works — gambling, dope, prostitution, everything. All under the protection of the syndicate’s own privately owned politicians. And you, Mr. Waner, are here on, shall we say, a buying trip. So, how much is in it for me?”
Waner laughed outright. “No wonder the people in the other counties kept telling me to come to you. You’re a businessman, Mr. Gates. Well, I’m not authorized to set exact figures, but I can promise you a basic minimum of a thousand dollars a month. As a starter. No ceiling on what you can take in, as time passes, and the wheels really start to turn.”
I pulled at my lower lip, and pretended to give it thought. I said, “I’ll think about it. But listen — why’d you knock off that deputy-sheriff over in Thomasville? Frank Davis.”
I didn’t get the strong reaction I expected. The goon tensed a bit, but Waner didn’t turn a hair. He inhaled from his cigar, blew a couple of neat smoke-rings, and murmured, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. But let’s pose a hypothetical question. Let’s suppose that for the good of many, it was necessary to sacrifice one man, one who couldn’t or wouldn’t understand that the old days of political graft and corruption are over.”
I shrugged. “You mean you killed Davis to let people know you weren’t fooling.”
Waner managed to look shocked. “Why, Mr. Gates! I didn’t kill anyone. Perish the thought.”
“Ah, let’s quit horsing around,” the man called Tom said. “I’m tired and sleepy.”
“A thousand a month isn’t enough,” I said.
“Oh, that’s your’s, personally. And, as I said, it’s just a starter.”
I pretended to think some more. But there was no point in stalling. I knew what I wanted to know. That the syndicate was in fact trying to move in, as we’d thought. And that Waner and his boys had murdered Frank Davis.
I stood up. “You and your gang of thieves stay out of this state,” I said. “I’ll tell you just once. Get out. Go home and tell your bosses to look elsewhere for easy pickings. But stay out of this state.”
This time I’d really surprised Waner. The phoney gloss peeled off, exposing the vicious punk underneath. His voice got shrill as he yammered at me, “Listen, we need you. You’re the key to this whole section, and you’re coming in. The easy way, or the hard way—”
I aimed a thumb at the door. “Out.”
Waner jumped from his chair. He was shaking with rage. “Listen, you. I could snap my fingers and Tom would go kill your wife, your family, and never lose a minute’s sleep over it. Don’t fool around here. You’re way out of your depth.”
“So are you, punk,” I told him.
He paid no attention. “Listen, the syndicate owns half the country. Now it’s time for this two-bit state to fall in line. You chink you can stop us? Country-boy, you better grow up. I tell you what. Me and my boys will be here till about noon tomorrow. At the hotel downtown. You come see me there before noon. And you better come with the right answers. Or your wife is going to have a serious accident before this time tomorrow night, and I can’t promise—”