“They might have been. But I don’t think so. And neither did any of their friends at that time. I mean her good friends, not the catty ones. They were frankly scandalized by her behavior.”
“All right,” I said. “Your gossip has usually proven more accurate than some supposedly factual stories. May I use your phone?”
She nodded.
I phoned Barney Allison and he told me I could reach Mr. Ladugo at home. I phoned Mr. Ladugo.
He said, “My daughter’s here now, Mr. Puma. She tells me that she never went into Mr. Hartley’s apartment. She stayed there quite awhile, ringing his bell, because she could hear music inside and she thought he must be home.”
“She told me this morning,” I said, “that she was never going to see him again. She could be lying now, too.”
A pause. “I — don’t think she is. She’s very frightened.” Another pause. “How about Hartley? Is he dead?”
“I don’t know. Did Hartley try to blackmail you, Mr. Ladugo?”
“Blackmail me? Why? How?”
“Let me talk to Miss Ladugo, please,” I said.
His voice was harsh. “Is something going on I don’t know about?”
“Could be. But I don’t know about it either. Could I speak with Miss Ladugo?”
Another pause and then, “Just a moment.”
The soft and humble voice of Angela Ladugo, “What is it you want, Mr. Puma?”
“The truth, if it’s in you. Was Hartley blackmailing you? What was it, pictures?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. Puma.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’m supposed to be working for your father. But I’m not going to lose my license over a job. I’m going to the police now.”
Silence for a few seconds, and then, “That would be stupid. That would be extremely poor business. Wait, here’s Father.”
After an interval Mr. Ladugo got on the wire. His voice was almost a whisper. “Will you come over here, first, Mr. Puma? And would you bring your reports along?”
“I’ll be there in less than an hour,” I said.
As I hung up, Frances said, “Scandal, eh? And do I get let in on it? No, no. I tell you all and you tell me nothing.”
“Honey,” I said, “you’re a reporter. Telling all is your business. But privacy is what I sell.”
“I’m not a reporter any more, Wop. I’m a lonely old woman looking for gossip to warm my heart over. Don’t hurry back, you slob.”
“I love you, Frances,” I said. “I love you all the ways there are. And I’ll be back with the gossip.”
I didn’t stop for the reports. I went over to the office for that purpose, but I saw the Department car in front and kept going. Sergeant Sam Heller would remember that I was asking about Jean Hartley the other day and that’s why the law was waiting in front of my office. This would indicate that Hartley was either dead or unconscious, or the law would be parked somewhere else.
In the Ladugo home, Papa was waiting for me with Angela in his library. He sat in a leather chair behind his desk; Angela stood near the sliding glass doors that led to the pool and patio.
I said, “I couldn’t get the reports. The police were waiting for me at my office, so I keep moving.”
He nodded. “Somebody must have recognized you.”
“I guess.”
He looked at his daughter’s back and again at me. “Why did you mention blackmail?”
“You tell me,” I said. “Has it happened before?”
He colored. Angela turned. Her voice was ice. “What kind of remark was that, Mr. Puma?”
I looked at her coolly. “Blackmail could be a good way to milk your dad. Especially, if you worked with Hartley.”
“And why should I cheat my own father? I’m his only child, Mr. Puma.”
“Maybe,” I suggested, “you get everything you want — except money. I don’t know, of course, but that’s one thought.”
Ladugo said, “Aren’t you being insolent, Mr. Puma?”
“I guess I am,” I said. “Your daughter brings out the worst in me, sir.” I took a deep breath and looked at him quietly.
He was rolling a pencil on this desk with the flat of his hand. “When you finally talk to the police, it wouldn’t be necessary to tell them why you were at Hartley’s apartment, would it.”
“I’m afraid it would. If he’s dead, I’m sure it would.”
He continued to roll the pencil and now he was looking at it, absorbed in the wonder of his moving hand. “You’d have to tell them the truth? I mean, there could be other reasons why you were over there, couldn’t there?”
I smiled. “For how much?”
He looked up hopefully. “For — a thousand dollars?”
I shook my head. “Not even for a million.”
He was beet red and there was hate in his eyes. “Then why did you mention money?”
“Because I wanted you to come right out with a bribe offer. I don’t like pussy-footing.”
I looked over at his daughter and thought I saw a smile on that sly face. I looked back at Mr. Ladugo and was ashamed of myself. He was thoroughly humiliated. His hands were on top of the desk now and he was staring at them.
I said, “I’m sorry. Now that the damage is done, I’m sorry. But there has been such a mess of deception in this business, I was getting sick. Believe me, Mr. Ladugo, if I’m not forced to mention your name, I won’t. Tell me honestly, though, have you been blackmailed before?”
He looked at his daughter and back at the desk. He nodded.
The Fast Line
by Art Crockett
Rudy Ferris didn’t have any trouble smashing my door open because he’s a real big guy. He stood facing me, his black automatic pointed straight at my throat.
It didn’t take me long to figure out what had happened. Ella had told him — everything. That little fool!
I spread my hands helplessly. “Now, look, Rudy. Let me—”
“Shut up, Chuck!” The guy’s massive chest was heaving like a ground swell. “I don’t want no talk. That’s all we got since you blew in.”
I shut up. Nothing I could say would wipe his brain clean. He was too far gone. Mad. Killing mad. So I shut up and watched his small eyes as they snapped to both sides of my room and then back to me. “You alone here?”
I nodded, wishing I wasn’t. Rudy closed the door, its lock dangling, as if a closed door would muffle the blast of that cannon he held. That door was the only way out, unless I chose to leap out the window, which was two stories up, and kill myself that way.
Maybe I had it coming. In Rudy’s eyes I guess I was a heel. But the big, overgrown jerk was stone blind and had been ever since Ella had decided he was her boyfriend, long before I had shown up in Leadsville. Otherwise he’d have known she was the type who got a charge out of anybody who could put some kicks into her miserable life.
Ella Barnes was fresh out of a haystack, like all the dames in Leadsville. But with her there was a difference. There was a restlessness in her that kept her on edge every minute, a restlessness that kept her dissatisfied with herself even though she’d snared the biggest, best-looking hayseed in town.
And there was something else about Ella. I found this out during the night I spent with her in her old man’s barn.
We were in the loft. Her eyes lit up as she said, “Chuck, I’d like to stir up this town before I leave. I mean really stir it up. I’m so sick and tired and bored with everything in it that I’d like to give them a jolt they’d never get over.”
Those were approximately her words. I’d only half listened. I’d already had what I’d come for so I wasn’t much interested in her babbling. But now her words were coming back to me, or at least the gist of what she had been trying to say.