Denny said: “I’ve got some Three-Star Martel. Be right up.” He went out of the room and light went on in the back part of the house. Dalmas put the bottle on the floor beside his hat and rubbed two fingers across his forehead. His head ached. After a little while the light went out in the back and Denny came back with two tall glasses.
The brandy tasted clean and hard. Denny sat down in another wicker chair. He looked very big and dark in the half-lit room. He began to talk slowly, in his gruff voice.
“It sounds goofy, but it worked. After the cops stopped milling around I parked in the alley and went in the back way. I knew which apartment the broad had but I hadn’t seen her. I thought I’d make some kind of a stall and see how she was makin’ out. I knocked on her door, but she wouldn’t answer. I could hear her movin’ around inside, and in a minute I could hear a telephone bein’ dialed. I went back along the hall and tried the service door. It opened and I went in. It fastened with one of them screw bolts that get out of line and don’t fasten when you think they do.”
Dalmas nodded, said: “I get the idea, Denny.”
The big man drank out of his glass and rubbed the edge of it up and down on his lower lip. He went on.
“She was phoning a guy named Gayn Donner. Know him?”
“I’ve heard of him,” Dalmas said. “So she has that kind of connections.”
“She was callin’ him by name and she sounded mad,” Denny said. “That’s how I knew. Donner has that place on Mariposa Canyon Drive — the Mariposa Club. You hear his band over the air — Hank Munn and his boys.”
Dalmas said: “I’ve heard it, Denny.”
“Okay. When she hung up I went in on her. She looked snowed, weaved around funny, didn’t seem to know much what was going on. I looked around and there was a photo of John Sutro, the councilman, in a desk there. I used that for a stall. I said that Sutro wanted her to duck out for a while and that I was one of his boys and she was to come along. She fell for it. Screwy. She wanted some liquor. I said I had some in the car. She got her little hat and coat.”
Dalmas said softly: “It was that easy, huh?”
“Yeah,” Denny said. He finished his drink and put the glass somewhere. “I bottle-fed her in the car to keep her quiet and we came out here. She went to sleep and that’s that. What do you figure? Tough downtown?”
“Tough enough,” Dalmas said. “I didn’t fool the boys much.”
“Anything on the Walden kill?”
Dalmas shook his head slowly. “I guess the Jap didn’t get home yet, Denny.”
“Want to talk to the broad?”
The radio was playing a waltz. Dalmas listened to it for a moment before he answered. Then he said in a tired voice: “I guess that’s what I came out here for.”
Denny got up and went out of the room. There was the sound of a door opening and muffled voices.
Dalmas took his gun out from under his arm and put it down in the chair beside his leg.
The blonde staggered a little too much as she came in. She stared around, giggled, made vague motions with her long hands. She blinked at Dalmas, stood swaying a moment, then slid down into the chair Denny had been sitting in. The big man kept near her and leaned against a library table that stood by the inside wall. She said drunkenly: “My old pal the dick. Hey, hey, stranger! How about buyin’ a lady a drink?”
Dalmas stared at her without expression. He said slowly: “Got any new ideas about that gun? You know, the one we were talking about when Johnny Sutro crashed in... the filed gun... the gun that killed Derek Walden.”
Denny stiffened, then made a sudden motion towards his hip. Dalmas brought his Colt up and came to his feet with it. Denny looked at it and became still, relaxed. The girl had not moved at all, but the drunkenness dropped away from her like a dead leaf. Her face was suddenly tense and bitter.
Dalmas said evenly: “Keep the hands in sight, Denny, and everything’ll be jake... Now suppose you two cheap crossers tell me what I’m here for.”
The big man said thickly: “For gawd’s sake! What’s eatin’ you? You scared me when you said ‘Walden’ to the girl.”
Dalmas grinned. “That’s all right, Denny. Maybe she never heard of him. Let’s get this ironed out in a hurry. I have an idea I’m here for trouble.”
“You’re crazy as hell!” the big man snarled.
Dalmas moved the gun slightly. He put his back against the end wall of the room, leaned over, and turned the radio off with his left hand. Then he spoke bitterly: “You sold out, Denny. That’s easy. You’re too big for a tail and I’ve spotted you following me around half a dozen times lately. When you horned in on the deal tonight I was pretty sure... And when you told me that funny story about how you got baby out here I was damn sure... Hell’s sake, do you think a guy that’s stayed alive as long as I have would believe that one? Come on, Denny, be a sport and tell me who you’re working for... I might let you take a powder... Who you working for? Donner? Sutro? Or somebody I don’t know? And why the plant out here in the woods?”
The girl shot to her feet suddenly and sprang at him. He threw her off with his free hand and she sprawled on the floor. She yelled: “Get him, you big punk? Get him!”
Denny didn’t move. “Shut up, snow-bird!” Dalmas snapped. “Nobody’s getting anybody. This is just a talk between friends. Get up on your feet and stop throwing curves!”
The blonde stood up slowly.
Denny’s face had a stony, immovable look in the dimness. His voice came with a dull rasp. He said: “I sold out. It was lousy. Okay, that’s that. I got fed up with watchin’ a bunch of extra girls trying to pinch each other’s lipstick... You can take a plug at me, if you feel like it.”
He still didn’t move. Dalmas nodded slowly and said again: “Who is it, Denny? Who you working for?” Denny said: “I don’t know. I call a number, get orders, and report that way. I get dough in the mail. I tried to break the twist here, but no luck... I don’t think you’re on the spot and I don’t know a damn thing about that shootin’ in the street.”
Dalmas stared at him. He said slowly: “You wouldn’t be stalling — to keep me here — would you, Denny?”
The big man raised his head slowly. The room suddenly seemed to get very still. A car had stopped outside. The faint throbbing of its motor died.
A red spotlight hit the top of the screens.
It was blinding. Dalmas slid down on one knee, shifted his position sidewise very quickly, silently. Denny’s harsh voice in the silence said: “Cops, for gawd’s sake!”
The red light dissolved the wire mesh of the screens into a rosy glow, threw a great splash of vivid color on the oiled finish of the inside wall. The girl made a choked sound and her face was a red mask for an instant before she sank down out of the fan of light. Dalmas looked into the light, his head low behind the sill of the end window. The leaves of the bushes were black spearpoints in the red glare.
Steps sounded on the walk. A harsh voice rasped: “Everybody out! Mitts in the air!”
There was a sound of movement inside the house. Dalmas swung his gun — uselessly. A switch clicked and a porch light went on. For a moment, before they dodged back, two men in blue police uniforms showed up in the cone of the porch light. One of them held a sub-machine gun and the other had a long Luger with a special magazine fitted to it.
There was a grating sound. Denny was at the door, opening the peep panel. A gun came up in his hand and crashed.
Something heavy clattered on the cement and a man swayed forward into the light, swayed back again. His hands were against his middle. A stiff-visored cap fell down and rolled on the walk.