"Herrick paid me to play the tables at the Casino," she said, after a moment's hesitation. "I don't know why, so don't ask me. He always took the money I'd won and gave me other notes in exchange."
I stared at her.
"Why did he do that?" I said.
She was just going to say she didn't know, when the door jerked open and Gomez walked in.
Chapter Three
GUNFIRE
1
A POLICE siren wailed in the still night air. Car tyres bit gravel. Doors slammed. Feet pounded on concrete.
I stood in the shadow of the wall facing the rear exit of Miss Spence's apartment block. It wasn't a particularly good place to be in with a flock of buttons buzzing around, but I'd been in worse places.
The alley was narrow and sealed at one end. The other end, opening on to the front drive, was lit by a white-blue overhead lamp.
I held the Luger in my right fist, and edged along the shadows. I came to the dead end, looked up. A couple of feet above me I could see the dark sky and the stars. I looked back down the alley. A flat, capped figure was peering around the corner of the wall. He couldn't see me, but I could see him.
He was very cautious, but I could have drilled him between the eyes without buying myself a truss. He seemed shy of showing me any more of himself. Maybe he thought his head was made of bullet-proof steel. Maybe it was.
I went down on one knee, waited.
He did exactly what I thought he would do. He pulled a flash and sent a long bright beam of light in search of me.
The roar of the Luger rolled around the narrow alley, bounced off the walls. The cop's flash disintegrated; darkness settled down again.
I had about sixty seconds to get moving before he recovered his nerve. I moved.
The top of the wall was gritty under my hands. I was glad I'd learned the trick of rolling over walls instead of sitting astride them. I was dropping into the far-side darkness when the cop opened up with a chopper. Slugs threw up a little cloud of mortar and brick dust six feet above my head. I didn't wait.
Beyond the wall was an expanse of trees, shrubs and darkness. I guessed it was the garden of the apartment block. I melted into the darkness; kept edging to my right, where I knew I'd eventually come out to the main street.
There was much shouting in the front drive. Heads peeped cautiously out of windows. The chopper continued to grind away. No one was taking chances.
I kept on. The Army certainly did a swell job in teaching me how to act like a Red Indian. Sitting Bull had nothing on me. Moving through the shrubs and trees, I made no more noise than a ghost and was a lot less visible.
The night was now full of police sirens, some near, some distant, some almost too faint to hear. There seemed a lot of Law on the move.
I reached the wall surrounding the garden as some bright boy decided to turn on a floodlight. I had just pulled myself up and was lying on top of the wall when the lights came on. I felt like a nudist in a subway on a Saturday in the rush-hour.
Enough artillery opened up to slaughter an army. Slugs hummed and buzzed. One of them nicked my sleeve. I dropped into the street faster than a lizard.
A cop from across the street took a pot-shot at me as I zigzagged along the sidewalk. I took a pot-shot at him. He fell on his knees, clasping his wrist. He yelled blue murder.
I got into my stride. Maybe I did touch the ground twice in my sprint for a friendly archway, but I doubt it. The archway led to a big house that loomed white above high white walls, capped with red tiles that reflected the moonlight.
Bullets skipped by me, struck sparks from the road. I reached the archway, ducked under cover. I was breathing like an old man with asthma, sweat ran down my face. Keeping close to the protecting wall, I looked into the street. Men moved, darted for cover, edging nearer to me. The street was lousy with cops.
I drew a bead on one of them. The slug passed through his hat, and he fell down, half-dead with fright.
I ducked back as soon as I'd fired. Three choppers opened up, and for the next three minutes death hung in the air. I let them blaze away, sneaked backwards, took the bend of the wall, and did another sprint. I was over another wall into another garden before they had made up their
minds that it'd be safe to advance,
I was getting tired of this cat-and-mouse business. Instead of climbing the next wall I turned towards the house. It was a big one with a wide verandah overlooking the garden. No lights showed.
I kicked in a window, entered a room that smelt of cigar smoke and perfume. I crossed the room, opened the door and stepped into a passage.
There was a man and a woman in the passage, standing against the partition wall, out of the way of flying glass and slugs.
"Hello." I said, smiling at them. "How are you liking the circus ?
The man was tall and beefy with a red face and a military moustache. His eyes were hard and stupid, his neck thick. The woman was a dark, nicely moulded trick in an interesting Grecian affair—–black crepe with gold bands crossed high on the bodice and double gold bands around the hem. She was about thirty-five, and there was a wordly look in her slaty eyes that I like to see in women of thirty-five.
The red-faced guy stiffened his backbone after the first shock of seeing me had passed. He growled deep in his throat, started a ponderous swing that a battleship could have dodged.
I let the swing sail over my head and ruin a lot of air in the passage. Then I pushed the Luger into his fat ribs.
"Skip it," I said. "You'd be better at the ballet."
His red face went a waxen white.
I looked at the woman. She hadn't turned a hair. She looked back at me, her eyes interested, unafraid.
"Think of the fun you'll have telling your friends," I went on to the man. "Chester Cain passed this way. You could even put a plaque on the outside of the house."
They didn't say anything, but the man had difficulty in breathing.
"Would you both go into one of these rooms?" I said, jerking my head to a line of doors. "I'm as harmless as a spinster aunt so long as no one crowds me."
I manoeuvred them into a front room, made them sit down. The furniture was as heavy and as dull as the man's face. The woman continued to eye me with interest.
I put my gun away to ease the atmosphere, peered out of the window.
Searchlights roamed the sky, car lights lit up the street, flat caps moved back and forth.
"I'll stick around," I said, sitting down so I could watch the two. "That reception committee still looks like business." I lit a cigarette, then remembered my manners, offered the pack to the woman. She took one, giving me a long, curious stare as she did so.
"Jill!" the man spluttered. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"Why shouldn't I smoke?" she asked in a tired voice.
He opened and shut his mouth, then scowled at her.
I struck a match and lit her cigarette. I had an idea at the back of my mind that I might have fun with her.