“You want a doctor?”
“Yes. Yes.”
“In a minute you can have a doctor. First you talk to me. Where’s Carla Kennedy?”
She fumbled for a handkerchief in her pocket, applied it gently to the cut. The bleeding had almost stopped. “I told you. I told you where to find her.”
“All I found was Harry Small. Dead. Somebody knifed him, somebody who probably knew him, or somebody he was expecting. I looked around his place. There wasn’t any trace of the girl.”
“Then — she took everything away.”
“You don’t know where I could find her?”
“No. I told you.”
“This Gilmer. What did he say to you?”
“He wanted... to know what I told you. How did he find out I said anything to you?”
“I’m afraid quite a few people knew I was here. Did Gilmer talk or act like he’d killed Harry Small?”
“No. He just said Harry was dead.”
“What did this Harry Small do for a living?”
“Newsstand. Up on Rosamorada, near the Strip. Used to sell papers on a corner downtown. Got his newsstand a couple of years ago.”
“Do you know anything at all about Carla Kennedy that would help me? I’ve got to find her.”
“I don’t know anything. I just knew Harry took her in. I don’t even know what she looks like.”
I remembered something in my coat pocket, took it out. The little soldier was busted to a fair-thee-well now inside the folds of handkerchief. I unwrapped the pieces, scattered them before her eyes. She touched them fondly. One of her children had come home.
“I found it in Harry Small’s room.”
“It’s one of mine.” She looked up at me. “I made two of them, though. Just alike.”
“Two? What happened to the other one?”
“Harry had both.” I thought back, trying to remember another little figure in the room. Unless it had been hidden for some reason, there wasn’t one.
“The girl must have the other one,” she said, reading my eyes. She groaned. “Please. Call me a doctor.”
“All right. Look. There’s going to be Law all over this neighborhood when they find Gilmer’s body. Questions asked. People will remember us running through their yards, through the alley. The cops will want to know about that busted window, how you got that cut on your cheek. It would be better if you don’t tell them anything. There’s another one like Gilmer around, only worse. He’s killed quite a few people. He’ll kill you just for associating with me, if you don’t keep quiet.”
The quick terror that flashed in her eyes gave me my answer. I went toward a phone on the wall near the curtains. My foot kicked something. I bent down and picked up a sky blue hat with a white band. I sailed it at the table.
“You better burn this in your kiln, too,” I said. I made two phone calls, the first to the police, to tell them about Harry Small. The second was to a doctor whose name she gave me.
Chapter Twenty-two
Reavis was working the gatehouse when I drove back to the island. He came up to the car as soon as I was through the gate.
“We got company,” he said, putting a hand on the window frame. “Maxine and three of his outfit. Also that girl he shacks up with.”
I nodded, drove on up the hill. Maxine’s car, a gleaming black Lincoln, was in the way so I couldn’t get into the garage. I left the Buick in the drive, started to go inside.
“Mallory,” a voice said. I turned from the door and waited. Charley Rinke hurried across the front lawn to me.
“They’re here,” he whispered, when he thought he was close enough.
“I know it,” I said shortly.
He smoked nervously. “Mallory — Pete, this is our chance. The big chance for both of us. Macy is through. But the organization hasn’t completely deteriorated yet. All that’s necessary is for somebody to step in and take control. Two men could do it. You and I. I know the books. You’ve got the contacts. You could round up the men. In a few days we could smash any resistance. There wouldn’t be much, if Maxine was dead.”
I turned away from him. His hand caught my arm. “Wait. Wait, Pete.” His voice was strained. “Listen to me. I’ve worked it all out. We can do it. Think about it, Pete. You saw the money in the safe. There’re millions more, just waiting for us to step in and take them.”
“Let go of me,” I said.
His hand dropped away. “What’s the matter? I — I thought—”
“I don’t know what you thought,” I told him. “I don’t know what kind of plans you made. But you better forget ’em, Rinke. You haven’t got any idea what you’d be starting. With Maxine dead and Macy out of control this territory would be wide open. Every out-of-work Syndicate hood from Seattle to Newark would be down here on the first train. I couldn’t hold this area with a battalion of Marines. It takes time to hire good men. You can’t use any two-bit leadslinger who has a gun and is willing to work. You got to have some smart heads under you to try a play like that. Meanwhile your life wouldn’t be safe from one second to the next. I don’t know why I’m standing here explaining this to you. I ought to let you go ahead and try to take Maxine on your own. If you have the guts. I don’t think you do. Your bright idea is for me to pick up the lead while you scratch around in the account books and sit back and enjoy the idea of being the local crime king. You wouldn’t live a week. And when you died you’d die messy and scared.”
He stared at me, his thin lips apart. There was an expression of childlike frustration on his face.
“I’ve got some advice for you,” I said. “As soon as Maxine takes over you pack your tail up and get out of here. Go as far away as you can. Maybe change your name. You know too much to be hanging around town after Maxine is top man. He might get nervous about you after a while and tell somebody to chill you. Why don’t you get an honest job somewhere and give your wife a break for a change?” It exhausted me, saying so much to him.
He sneered at me. “I can handle Evelyn all right,” he said.
“I’ve noticed,” I said. “Get away from me, Rinke, before I just sort of lean over and pound the hell out of you. It would probably do you good.”
Rinke backed away from me hastily. “I thought you were smart. I thought I could talk to you.”
“You can’t talk to me,” I said. “You don’t have any words that interest me. All I’m interested in right now is getting a thousand miles away from this place.”
I moved toward him and shoved him, hard. He almost fell. He backed away from me again. I didn’t have to do that. There was no reason for me to do that. I turned away and walked into the house, wearily. I held my hands a little out in front of me as if I had smeared them with something dirty. I was tired of myself, of trying to be tough. I wasn’t tough. I wasn’t one of the hired apes who could smash somebody’s face or put a bullet in somebody without feeling a twinge. I was conditioned to toughness, that’s all. I was used to sudden violence and I knew how to take care of myself. But once in a while the guard came down and I started shaking. The only really tough men are the hefty lads with the sixty-plus IQ’s who don’t have the reasoning abilities of a flea, who can’t see it happening to them someday. Who don’t give a damn anyway.
In the brightly lighted living room, Gerry sat all by herself at the small curved bar sipping some kind of pale blockbuster from a tall etched glass. She wore a gray skirt and full-sleeved blouse with wide red stripes. Her skin was fresh as poured cream. She looked very young and very charming.
“Hello,” she said, edging sideways on the bar stool, her lips pursed around a straw. “What happened to you?”