I stood with my hands flat against the concrete wall. I thought of all the men I had seen in the police lineup. They let the silence add up.
“You had to get smart,” Brock said wearily. “And I thought you were okay.”
“Smart?” I asked. “How?”
Whitey took two slow steps toward me. Fletcher said sharply, “Hold it!” He circled Whitey and stood a few feet in front of me, his thumbs stuck in the bottom pockets of his vest. “You’re a smart looking boy, Gage,” he said gently. “And I understand you can handle yourself. Both of those things are advantages, you know. We were beginning to trust you, too.”
Inside of me the fear grew like a swollen boil — and then it broke, and when it went away I was once again clear-headed, able to figure angles. “It would help a little,” I said, “if I knew what you were talking about.”
Fletcher sighed in an elephantine manner. “I am talking about a young man who fell under the spell of a vicious woman. I am talking about a young man who is too big for his pants.”
“I still don’t get it.”
“My boy, part of our efficiency as an organization is the result of employing constant checks and balances. In the employ of the syndicate is a humble stenographer in the police department. Through him we learned this noon that a certain Miss Robinson in the District Attorney’s office has turned in a rather complete report on the operations and organizational setup of this Murrisberg branch. They plan a raid for the day after tomorrow.
“I immediately brought Whitey and young Cowlfax down here by private plane to talk the situation over with Mr. Sentano. It is obvious to us that you gave the information to Miss Robinson. Then we wondered why; we could not imagine why you would wish to disrupt your own income for a period of a few weeks until we could get back in operation at some new location. Mr. Sentano remarked on your recent attraction to our Miss Garron.
“He also remarked on your behaviour lately, which, at the very least, has seemed odd. We have discussed this matter, and it seems likely that you and Miss Garron could hope to improve your positions through the setting up of an alternate organization which would replace the syndicate here in Murrisberg.
“I know of no outside organization interested in this city at the moment, so I am assuming that you two have found local backers and... ah... local gunmen to protect you from us during the starting period.”
He paused and smiled fatuously at me.
I didn’t answer, so he said, “Mind you, we are not ones lightly to give up a source of income which nets us around four hundred thousand a year. You were stupid to believe that we would give it up without a fight. A very... ah... dirty fight, I might say. A fight in which we would be glad to... murder someone as an example.”
He turned and beamed at the young punk. “Cowlfax here would be glad to do a job for a price which includes immediate transportation to a pleasant tropical country where they do not practice extradition, wouldn’t you, Jimmy?”
“Sure,” Jimmy mumbled.
“And so you see, my dear Brian, your premise was false from the beginning. However, we are prepared to forgive and forget. Does that surprise you? Yes, forgive and forget. Merely give me the names of your backers, and those in your organization, and we will keep you on, but switch you, of course, to some other part of the state, and, I am afraid, at a reduced income, my boy.”
“Why are you so certain of all this?”
His eyes widened. “Why because of Miss Garron, of course! She is... ah... clever, and we were asleep at the switch, you might say. When she saw my arrival by taxi from the airport, she comprehended immediately and... fled.”
Denial would bring Whitey in on me. There was something rabid and unclean about Whitey, something about the way his fat white fingers worked, and his look of sadness. I needed time more than anything.
I smiled at Fletcher. “Assume for a moment that you are right, Mr. Fletcher. And make the further assumption that I am a hired boy, with Anna Garron bossing the job. Would I know as much as you expect me to know?”
He rubbed his big chin and looked reflective. “You make a point, sir.” Then he smiled broadly. “And would it not be equally wise for you to pretend to be a hired boy, as you call it, so as to prevent Whitey from working on you a bit?”
That angle had failed to pan out. I thought it over. A denial would bring Whitey in on me. I had learned during the war that torture is a great deal more effective than the average man would like to believe; and Whitey had the same look that the fat Jap in charge of the water cure had at the Rangoon Prison.
I gave Fletcher a frank smile. “Okay, Mr. Fletcher. You hold the cards. You’ve read them right, believe me.” I looked beyond him, and said, “Sorry, Brock.”
Fletcher turned around quickly. Brock was pale. “He’s being wise, Fletch.”
“Am I?” I said. “How about those fake tickets to help with financing us, Brock. Hell, you’ve got the blank tickets up there in your closet behind that loose board. You said that we might as well chisel a little out of the syndicate before everything blows up. Remember, Brock?” I tried to look the part of outraged innocence.
Fletcher nodded at Jimmy, said, “Last room on the left at the end of the upstairs hall.”
Jimmy ran up the stairs. The cellar was very quiet. Brock’s face began to glisten in the overhead lights. “He’s lying,” he said. Oley, sitting back in the shadows near the canned goods, shifted restlessly. I hadn’t noticed him before.
Jimmy came back down, a wide grin on his face. He handed the green tickets to Fletcher. Fletcher looked at them curiously.
“I don’t know anything about those!” Brock said loudly. It sounded like the voice of guilt.
Fletcher, his voice odd and husky, said, “I’d give this kid another chance, Brock. You’ve been with us too long to get a second chance. Okay, Jimmy.”
Brock scrambled back, his chair tipping over, his hand flashing inside his coat. Jimmy’s gun had a massive silencer screwed on the end of the barrel. It’s report was halfway between a cough and a grunt. It was a big gun, with a lot of foot pounds of impact. It smashed Brock against the wall. He bounced off the wall in an odd and comic dance and fell awkwardly across the tipped-over chair. He lay with his forehead against the concrete floor.
Fletcher said softly, “You can see, Gage, that you have been on the wrong side.”
“That wasn’t smart,” Whitey said in his half whisper.
“What do you mean!” Fletcher snapped.
“Maybe he knew more than Gage, or the girl.”
For the first time, Fletcher looked uncertain. His eyes were puzzled. He turned to me. “Where is Anna Garron?”
“I wouldn’t know. Brock and Anna were running this show.” While I was talking I was trying desperately to think of a likely backer. Not John Naga. Somebody else.
Oley still sat over by the canned goods. I could hear his rapid breathing.
I said calmly, “Oley over there was to knock off you syndicate people when you arrived; that was the plan.”
Oley gasped as Jimmy whirled at him. He scuttled away toward the darker shadows. Whitey was watching him. “No!” Fletcher roared.
Whitey was half crouched. I took one quick step and kicked him in the face with all my strength, feeling the jaw bone give as he fell heavily. The fuse box was half under the stairs. I put an arm lock on Fletcher and kept him between me and Jimmy. I yanked him back toward the stairs, as Jimmy stood in helpless indecision.
I yanked the black handle down, shoved Fletcher away and broke for the stairs. The gun coughed again, slightly louder this time through the worn packing, but I didn’t hear the slug hit.
I slid on the kitchen linoleum, skidded into the stove, bruising my hip, and then found the back door handle. I vaulted the railing, stinging the soles of my feet on the asphalt of the driveway.