Fenner’s face was a bruised, fearful mask. He stared blankly at Kells.
“A few days ago — yesterday — all I wanted was to be let alone,” Kells went on. “I wasn’t. I was getting along fine — quietly — legitimately — and Rose and you and the rest of these — gave me action.”
He stood up. “All right — I’m beginning to like it.” He walked once to the window, back, bent over Fenner. “I’m taking over your organization. Do you hear me? I’m going to run this town for a while — ride hell out of it.”
He glanced at Beery, smiled. Then he turned again to Fenner, spoke quietly: “I was going East tomorrow. Now you’re going. You’re going to turn everything over to me and take a nice long trip — or they’re going to break your goddamned neck with a rope.”
Kells went to the small desk, sat down. He found a pen, scribbled on a piece of Lido stationery. “And just to make it ‘legal, and in black and white’, as the big business men say — you’re going to sign this — and Mister Beery is going to witness it.”
Beery said: “You can’t get away with a—”
“No?” Kells paused, glanced over his shoulder at Beery. “I’ll get away with it big, young fella. And stop worrying about your job — you’ve got a swell job with me. How would you like to be chief of police?”
He went on writing, then stopped suddenly, turned to Fenner. “I’ve got a better idea,” he said. “You’ll stay here where I can hold a book on you. You stay here and in your same spot — only you can’t go to the toilet without my okay,” He got up and stood in the center of the room and jerked his head toward the desk. “There it is. Get down on it — quick.”
Fenner said, “Certainly not,” thickly.
Kells looked at the floor, said: “Call Hayes, Shep.”
Beery reached for the telephone.
Fenner didn’t look at him. He held his hands tightly over his face for a moment, mumbled, “My God!” — then he got up and went unsteadily to the desk, sat down. He stooped over the piece of paper, read it carefully.
Kells said: “If Granquist beats the case — and she will — and you don’t talk out of turn, I’ll tear it up in a month or so.”
Fenner picked up the pen, shakily signed.
Kells looked at Beery, and Beery got up and went over and read the paper. He said: “This is a confession. Does it make me an accessory?”
Kells said: “It isn’t dated.”
Beery signed and folded the paper and handed it to Kells.
Kells glanced at it, turned to Fenner. “Now I want you to call your Coast Guardian man, Dickinson, and any other key men you can get in touch with, and tell them to be at your joint at the Knickerbocker in a half-hour.”
Fenner went into the bathroom, washed his face. He came back in a little while and sat down at the telephone.
Kells held the folded paper out to Beery. “You’re going downtown anyway, Shep,” he said. “Stick this in the safe at your office — I’ll be down in the morning and take it to the bank.”
Beery said: “Do I look that simple? I’ve got a wife and family.”
Kells put the folded paper in his own pocket.
“Anyway, I’m not going downtown. I’m coming along,” Beery picked up his hat. Kells nodded abstractedly, glanced at his watch; it was twenty-two minutes past ten. Outside, there was a long ragged buzz of faraway thunder and the telephone clicked as Fenner dialed a number.
Chapter Four
Five men sat in Fenner’s apartment at the Knickerbocker.
Fenner sat at one end of the divan. Hanline, Fenner’s secretary, sat beside him, then Abe Gowdy, Fenner’s principal contact man with the liberal element. They hadn’t been able to reach Dickinson.
Gowdy swung the vote of practically every gambler, grafter, bootlegger and so on in the county, except the few independents who tried to get along without protection. He was a bald, paunchy man with big white bulbs of flesh under his eyes, a loose pale mouth. He wore dark, quiet clothes; didn’t drink.
Hanline was a curly-haired, thin-nosed Jew. He drank a great deal.
He and Beery and Kells all drank a great deal.
Kells got up and walked to one of the windows. He said: “Try him again.”
Fenner reached wearily for the phone, asked for a Fitzroy number, listened a little while and hung up.
Kells turned, came back and stopped near Fenner, looked first at Gowdy, then Hanline.
“Gentlemen,” he said. “Lee” — he indicated Fenner with a fond pat on the shoulder — “Lee and I have entered into a partnership.” He paused, picked up a small glass full of whiskey and cracked ice, drank most of it.
“We all know,” he went on, “that things haven’t been so good the last three or four years — and we know that unless some very radical changes are made in the city government things won’t get any better.” Hanline nodded slightly.
“Lee and I have talked things over and decided to join forces.” Kells put down the glass.
Gowdy said: “What do you mean: ‘join forces,’ Mister Kells?”
Kells cleared his throat, glanced at Beery. “You boys have the organization,” he said. “You, Gowdy — and Frank Jensen, and O’Malley — and Lee here. My contribution is very important political information, which I’ll handle in my own way and at my own time — and a lot of friends in the East who are going to be on their way out here tomorrow.”
Hanline looked puzzled. Gowdy glanced expressionlessly at Fenner.
“Bellmann’s dead,” Kells went on — “and the circumstances of his murder can be of great advantage to us if they’re handled in exactly the right way. But that, alone, isn’t going to swing an, election. We’ve got the personal following of all the administration to beat — and we’ve got Rose’s outfit to beat...”
Hanline asked: “Rose?”
Kells poured himself another drink. “Rose has built up a muscle organization of his own in the last few months — and a week or so ago he threw in with Bellmann.”
Hanline and Gowdy glanced at one another, at Fenner.
Kells said: “There it is.” He sat down.
Fenner got up and went into the bedroom. He came back presently, said: “It’s a good proposition, Abe. Mister Kells wants to put the heat on Rose—”
Kells interrupted: “I want to reach Dickinson tonight and see if we can’t get the first number of the Guardian on the streets by morning. There are certain angles on the Bellmann thing that the other papers won’t touch.”
Hanline said: “Maybe he’s at Ansel’s — but they won’t answer the phone there after ten.”
“Who’s Ansel?”
Hanline started to answer but Gowdy interrupted him: “Did you know Rose was backing Ansel?” Gowdy was looking at Fenner.
Fenner shook his head, spoke to Kells: “Ansel runs a couple crap games down on Santa Monica Boulevard — Dickinson plays there quite a bit.”
Kells said: “So Dickie is a gambler?”
Hanline laughed. “I’ll bet he’s made a hundred thousand dollars with the dirt racket in the last year,” he said. “And I’ll bet he hasn’t got a dollar and a quarter.”
Kells smiled at Fenner. “You ought to take better care of your hired men,” he said. Then he got up, finished his drink and put on his hat. “I’ll go over and see if I can find him.” Beery said: “I’ll come along.” Kells shook his head slightly.
Hanline stood up, stretched, said: “It’s the second or third building on the south side of the street, west of Gardner — used to be a scene painter’s warehouse or something like that — upstairs.”
“Thanks.” Kells asked Fenner: “Dickinson’s the guy that was typewriting at the place downtown?”
Fenner nodded.
Hanline said: “If you don’t mind, I’m going back downstairs and get some sleep. I was out pretty late last night.”