“—! my head. How did I get in here?”
Beery said: “Papa carried you.” He stood up and went to the door for a minute, came back and sat down. “And what a piece of business! You were out on your feet — absolutely cold — squeezed that iron, one, two, three, four, five, six — like that. One in the wall about six inches above my head, five in baby-face.”
“That was O’Donnell.” Kells closed his eyes and moved his head a little. “Then I faw down.” He opened his eyes.
Beery nodded.
“Who hit me?”
“Rose.”
Kells looked interested. “What with — a piano?”
“A vase... ”
“Vahze.”
Beery said: “A vase — a big one out of the bedroom. I don’t think he had a gun.”
“Would you mind beginning at the beginning?” Kells closed his eyes.
“After you left, Fenner and Gowdy sat there like a couple bumps on a log, afraid to crack in front of me.”
Kells nodded carefully, held his head in his hands.
“After a while, Gowdy got bored and went home — he lives around the corner. I was sucking up a lot of red-eye, having a swell time. Then about five minutes before you got here, the bell rang and Fenner went to the door, backed in with Rose and O’Donnell and the spiggoty. O’Donnell and the spick were snowed to the eyes. Rose said: ‘What did Kells get from the gal that bumped Bellmann, and where is it?’ Fenner went into a nose-dive — he was scared wet, anyway. They made us get down on the floor... ”
Kells laughed. He said: “You looked like a couple communicants.”
“... and Rose frisked both of us and started fearing up the furniture. Some way or other, I got the idea that whether he found what he was looking for or not, we weren’t going to tell about it afterwards.”
Beery paused, lighted a cigarette, went on quietly: “Rose was sore as hell, and O’Donnell and the greaser were licking their chops for blood. The greaser kept fingering a chiv in his belt — you know: the old noiseless ear to ear gag.”
Kells said: “Maybe. They popped Dickinson and me outside Ansel’s. If they’re that far in the open, they’d want to get Fenner too.”
“And Beery — the innocent bystander... ”
“I doubt it though, Shep. I don’t think Rose would have come along if it was a kill.”
“Well, anyway — he’d gotten around to the bedroom when you rang. He switched out the light and waited in there in the dark. You came in and went into your wild-west act with baby-face, and Rose came out behind you and took a bead on your skull with the vase — vahze. Then he and the greaser screwed — quick.”
Kells reached suddenly into his inside pocket, then took his hand out, sighed. “Didn’t he fan me?”
“No. I grabbed O’Donnell’s gun when he fell — anyway, I think Rose was too scared to think about that.”
Kells said: “Go on.”
Beery looked immensely superior. “Well, the old rapid-fire Beery brain got to work,” he said. “I figured that you had to be gotten out of there quick, and I remembered what you’d said about this place next-door. Fenner was about to go into his fit. I got the key from him and talked about thirty seconds’ worth of sense, and carried you in here — and the gun.” He nodded at the revolver on the couch beside Kells.
“Where’s Fenner now?”
“Over at the station, filing murder charges against Rose and the greaser.”
Kells said: “That’s swell.”
“The house-dick and a bunch of coppers and a lot of neighbors who had heard the barrage got here at about the same time. It was the fastest police action I’ve ever seen; must have been one of the radio cars. I listened through the air-shaft. Fenner had pulled himself together, and told a beautiful story about Rose and O’Donnell and the Mex crashing in, and O’Donnell getting rubbed in a fight with Rose.”
Beery mashed out his cigarette. “He’s telling it over at headquarters now — or maybe he’s on his way back. You’ve been out about a half-hour.”
Kells sat up unsteadily. He said: “Give me a drink of water.”
A little later there was a tap at the door, and Beery opened it, let Fenner in.
Fenner looked very tired. He said: “How are you, Gerry?”
“I’m fine, Lee — how are you?” Kells grinned.
“Terrible... terrible! I can’t stand this kind of thing.” Fenner sat down.
“Maybe you’d better take a trip, after all.” Kells smiled faintly, picked up the revolver. “Things are going to be more in the open. I’ll have to carry a gun.” He looked down at the revolver.
“By—! I’ll get a permit for a change,” he said. “Can you fix that up?”
Fenner nodded wearily. “I guess so.”
“And Lee, we made a deal tonight — I mean early — the twenty-five grand, you know. I’m going to handle the stuff, of course; but in the interests of my client, Miss Granquist, I’ll have to consummate the sale.”
Fenner looked at the floor.
“A check’ll be all right.”
Fenner nodded. “I’ll go in and make it out,” he said. “Then I’ll have to say good night — I’m all in.”
Kells said: “That’ll be all right.”
Fenner went out and closed the door.
Kells sat looking at the door for a moment, and then he said:
“Shep — you’re the new editor of the Coast Guardian. How do you like that?”
“Lousy. I don’t carry enough insurance.”
“You’ll be all right. A hundred a week and all the advertising you can sell, on the side.”
“When do I start?”
“Right now. I parked Dickinson up at Bill Cullen’s. I’ll drop you there, and you can get the details from him — if he’s conscious. I’ll turn the, uh — data over to you.”
Beery rubbed his eyes, yawned. He smiled a little and said: “Oh, well, what the hell. I guess I’m beginning to like it, too.”
Kells looked at his wrist. “The — smashed my watch — what time is it?”
“Twelve-two.”
“—! I’m late.” Kells picked up the telephone and called a Hempstead number.
He said: “Hello, baby... Sure... Have you got any ham and eggs?... Have you got some absorbent cotton and bandages and iodine?... That’s fine, I’ll be up in about ten minutes... I’ve been on a party.”
Straight Crooks
by Erle Stanley Gardner
Ed Jenkins, dodging a murder rap, finds time to help another crook who is trying to go straight.
The Cracker paused before the door of the apartment and listened. It was a fool move. We’d already determined, as nearly as we could, that the apartment was empty. Standing before the door, bent over, was simply suicidal. We couldn’t tell when someone was going to pop out of one of the other apartments, even if it was after midnight.
I pushed him to one side and fitted a skeleton key.
The Cracker started to whisper. I kicked viciously at his shin. He shut up.
A skeleton key Is a difficult thing to handle. It nearly always makes more or less of a noise, and sometimes has to be held at just a right angle. It isn’t like a regular key that fits the guides perfectly.
The Cracker was peering nervously up and down the hallway, looking like a bum actor trying to register guilt. I could have killed him with pleasure.
The bolt clicked in the door. I pulled in on the knob so the latch wouldn’t make a racket, turned, and pushed the door noiselessly open.
The apartment was dark as pitch.