“Why’d you give it to Emmy?”
“She suspected I’d killed Marty. She came to my place and told me so — that was when you got there and she chucked you down the stairs. Well, I told her I knew Inez wasn’t her kid. I told her if she’d squeal on me I’d tell what I knew. So that was a bargain. But I got drunk. I thought o’ the times she’d threatened Inez and got sore enough to kill her then. I went up there first and seen her coming to on the floor — that was after she had the fight with you. I heard you in the other room and took her out, figuring to take her to my place and beat hell out of her.
“But downstairs, I saw Inez running away. I ran after her and she said she was going to meet Webb and they were going to run away and get married. That kind of socked me, though I half expected it. I let her go. Then I lost sight of Emmy. I came back later and found her. She said Inez had gone away and she was going to turn me up because I’d always taken Inez’ side against her. Then I choked her to death.”
He rolled over and a cigar fell out of his pocket. Kennedy picked it up. It was triangular in shape.
“You smoke these?”
“Dan Osborne gave me a couple. He was around asking me questions and he gave me a couple.”
“Does he know about Inez?”
“No.”
“I’ll get an ambulance.”
“No, no,” begged Jaeger. “Let me pass out here. I tried to kill you in front of Enrico’s, Kennedy. You knew too much. I tried it again here. I killed Marty. I killed Emmy. I don’t want an ambulance.”
Kennedy stared at him, said, “Well, it’ll take a while for one to get here.”
The night wind was strong, it whistled past the high casement windows. Osborne watched the Night Express come up to the Eastmarsh Bridge, string across it. He pulled on his cigar.
“I never thought Marty was a rat like that,” he said. “He always used to kid me, ride me, but I never thought he’d do a thing like that. When he kept telling me that if I closed him up I’d rue the day, I don’t know, I just thought it was bluff. He was always full of bluff. But now I can remember his evil grin — I didn’t think it was particularly evil then. But I know it was, now. He hated my guts. He hated me in his smiling, droll way when I went over on the side of the law. Kidded me about it. Razzed me. But I always gave him a break. I should have killed him.”
Kennedy said from the depths of the divan, “I sure had you picked as a major suspect for a long time. I guess I wasn’t big-hearted enough to believe that you’d pull punches with Marty just for old times’ sake. I really thought he had something on you.”
“I know you did.” Osborne’s eyes dreamed. “You see, the child must have been born after my wife left me. I never knew about it. She ran away with some musician. I suppose I was to blame, a bit. I buried myself in work so.”
Kennedy stood up, yawned. He said, “Well, MacBride goes back to work tomorrow. Same job. He doesn’t know it yet, so I think I’ll go find him and razz him a while, because tomorrow I won’t be able to.”
Osborne was wrapped in thought. “Did Inez say she would come here?” he asked.
“Yes. She and Webb never did leave the apartment house. They went down as far as the lobby and then Inez wouldn’t go any further. I found them there when I ran back, after I shot Jaeger.”
Osborne sat down, saying, “I won’t know how to act. How do you act, Kennedy, when you meet a daughter you’ve never seen?”
Kennedy was on his way to the door. “I never was a father, Dan. I wouldn’t know. So long. I’m going around to Enrico’s and take a punch at Paderoofski.”
When he drifted into Enrico’s fifteen minutes later Enrico himself was behind the bar. At sight of Kennedy he held his head in his hands.
Kennedy said, “Come on — tell Paderoofski to get out from under the bar.”
Enrico threw his hands in the air. “But ain’t you heard!” he exclaimed. He groaned, “Poor Paderoofski!”
Kennedy looked puzzled. “Huh?”
“Look, Kennedy, sir. After Paderoofski gives you the gun he remembers it ain’t loaded with no bullets. He cries out. He runs to the street and yells, but you drive off. He yells some more. He pulls his hair. He jumps. He prays. Then... yes, then poor Paderoofski has nervous collapse. I send him to the husspital in an ambulance. In an ambulance to the husspital goes poor Paderoofski with big nervous collapse! Is that not sad, Kennedy, sir?... Please, quick, go to the husspital so Paderoofski shouldn’t beat up no more doctors. Four already he’s beat up, not counting three orderlies. Quick, before the husspital she’s a wreck!”
Death Song
by Paul Cain
Pat Nolan puts on an act for murder.
Jacobsen, the assistant director, yelled “Hold your hammers!”
The pounding at the far end of the stage stopped.
Carl Dreier raised his head, said softly, wearily: “Turn ’em over.”
I held on to the arms of my chair and waited for what I knew was going to happen.
The sound mixer called out the number, the assistant cameraman snapped his slap-stick under the microphone and moved swiftly out of the scene, Maya Sarin came through the right up-stage door in the narrow hallway set and walked a little unsteadily towards the camera. Creighton, the leading man, came through the door and ran after her. He came abreast of her about ten feet from the camera and they stopped and faced each other.
He put his hands gently on her shoulders, gazed deep into her dusky, violet-shadowed eyes.
“Darling!” he whispered, his voice quivering with emotion, “Darling! You can’t leave me like this!...”
Then it happened.
She said: “Oh, yesh, I can.” Her voice was thick with alcohol. She wasn’t tight — she wasn’t even drunk — she was cock-eyed.
Creighton started to say something like “But, darling...” and then he swallowed his words and his emotion and turned squarely towards Dreier, put his hands on his hips, snapped shrilly: “Mister Dreier — I refuse to try to work with a drunken woman any longer!”
Sarin turned wide glassy eyes to stare vacantly in the general direction of the camera.
“Why was matter?” she asked innocently, incredulously. “I don’t know what Mist’ Creighton’s talking about...”
Then her expression changed swiftly, her eyes narrowed to ominous black-fringed slits and she swung her open hand to the side of Creighton’s jaw. If they didn’t hear that smack up on Hollywood Boulevard they weren’t listening — it was a pip.
I thought Creighton was going to go into his swoon for a minute, then he put one hand slowly up to his spanked face and turned and walked back up the hallway, out the door.
Sarin whirled towards the camera. “...’S a frame-up!” she screamed. “Everybodeesh trying to ace me outa thish picsher! I won’t stand—”
Dreier stood up. He was a tall heavy shouldered man with prematurely gray hair, a narrow sharply chiseled face softened by sympathetic eyes, a generous mouth. He looked very tired. He tapped one leg of the tripod with his walking-stick and the cameraman snapped off the camera-motor. It was silent except for the sound of Sarin’s indignant panting.