Miliar’s face was dead white, expressionless. His voice cracked. «Steve — for God’s sake, Steve, what are you talking about? How the hell could I —»
«Sorry, kid. I liked working with you. I liked you a lot. I guess I still like you. But I don’t like people who strangle women — or people who smear women in order to cover up a revenge murder.»
His hand shot up — and stopped. The big man said: «Take it easy — and look at this one.»
Gaff’s hand had come up from behind the pile of records. A Colt .45 was in it. He said between his teeth: «I always thought house dicks were just a bunch of cheap grafters. I guess I missed out on you. You got a few brains. Hell, I bet you even run out to One-eighteen Court Street. Right?»
Steve let his hand fall empty and looked straight at the big Colt. «Right. I saw the girl — dead — with your fingers marked into her neck. They can measure those, fella. Killing Dolores Chiozza’s maid the same way was a mistake. They’ll match up the two sets of marks, find out that your black-haired gun girl was at the Carlton last night, and piece the whole story together. With the information they get at the hotel they can’t miss. I give you two weeks, if you beat it quick. And I mean quick.»
Millar licked his dry lips and said softly: «There’s no hurry, Steve. No hurry at all. Our job is done. Maybe not the best way, maybe not the nicest way, but it wasn’t a nice job. And Leopardi was the worst kind of a louse. We loved our sister, and he made a tramp out of her. She was a wide-eyed kid that fell for a flashy greaseball, and the greaseball went up in the world and threw her out on her ear for a red-headed torcher who was more his kind. He threw her out and broke her heart and she killed herself,»
Steve said harshly: «Yeah — and what were you doing all that time — manicuring your nails?»
«We weren’t around when it happened. It took us a little time to find out the why of it.»
Steve said: «So that was worth killing four people for, was it? And as for Dolores Chiozza, she wouldn’t have wiped her feet on Leopardi — then, or any time since. But you had to put her in the middle too, with your rotten little revenge murder. You make me sick, George. Tell your big tough brother to get on with his murder party.»
The big man grinned and said: «Nuff talk, George. See has he a gat — and don’t get behind him or in front of him. This bean-shooter goes on through.»
Steve stared at the big man’s .45. His face was hard as white bone. There was a thin cold sneer on his lips and his eyes were cold and dark.
Millar moved softly in his fleece-lined slippers. He came around the end of the table and went close to Steve’s side and reached out a hand to tap his pockets. He stepped back and pointed: «In there.»
Steve said softly: «I must be nuts. I could have taken you then, George.»
Gaff Talley barked: «Stand away from him.»
He walked solidly across the room and put the big Colt against Steve’s stomach hard. He reached up with his left hand and worked the Detective Special from the inside breast pocket. His eyes were sharp on Steve’s eyes. He held Steve’s gun out behind him. «Take this, George.»
Millar took the gun and went over beyond the big table again and stood at the far corner of it. Gaff Talley backed away from Steve.
«You’re through, wise guy,» he said. «You got to know that. There’s only two ways outa these mountains and we gotta have time. And maybe you didn’t tell nobody. See?»
Steve stood like a rock, his face white, a twisted half-smile working at the corners of his lips. He stared hard at the big man’s gun and his stare was faintly puzzled.
Millar said: «Does it have to be that way, Gaff?» His voice was a croak now, without tone, without its usual pleasant huskiness.
Steve turned his head a little and looked at Millar. «Sure it has, George. You’re just a couple of cheap hoodlums after all. A couple of nasty-minded sadists playing at being revengers of wronged girlhood. Hillbilly stuff. And right this minute you’re practically cold meat — cold, rotten meat.»
Gaff Talley laughed and cocked the big revolver with his thumb. «Say your prayers, guy,» he jeered.
Steve said grimly: «What makes you think you’re going to bump me off with that thing? No shells in it, strangler. Better try to take me the way you handle women — with your hands.»
The big man’s eyes flicked down, clouded. Then he roared with laughter. «Geez, the dust on that one must be a foot thick,» he chuckled. «Watch.»
He pointed the big gun at the floor and squeezed the trigger. The firing pin clicked dryly — on an empty chamber. The big man’s face convulsed.
For a short moment nobody moved. Then Gaff turned slowly on the balls of his feet and looked at his brother. He said almost gently: «You, George?»
Milar licked his lips and gulped. He had to move his mouth in and out before he could speak.
«Me, Gaff. I was standing by the window when Steve got out of his car down the road, I saw him go into the garage. I knew the car would still be warm. There’s been enough killing, Gaff. Too much. So I took the shells out of your gun.»
Millar’s thumb moved back the hammer on the Detective Special. Gaff’s eyes bulged. He stared fascinated at the snubnosed gun. Then he lunged violently towards it, flailing with the empty Colt. Millar braced himself and stood very still and said dimly, like an old man: «Goodbye, Gaff.»
The gun jumped three times in his small neat hand. Smoke curled lazily from its muzzle. A piece of burned log fell over in the fireplace.
Gaff Talley smiled queerly and stooped and stood perfectly still. The gun dropped at his feet. He put his big heavy hands against his stomach, said slowly, thickly: «’S all right, kid. ’S all right, I guess … I guess I…»
His voice trailed off and his legs began to twist under him. Steve took three long quick silent steps, and slammed Millar hard on the angle of the jaw. The big man was still falling — as slowly as a tree falls.
Millar spun across the room and crashed against the end wall and a blue-and-white plate fell off the plate-molding and broke. The gun sailed from his fingers. Steve dived for it and came up with it. Millar crouched and watched his brother.
Gaff Talley bent his head to the floor and braced his hands and then lay down quietly, on his stomach, like a man who was very tired. He made no sound of any kind.
Daylight showed at the windows, around the red glass-curtains. The piece of broken log smoked against the side of the hearth and the rest of the fire was a heap of soft gray ash with a glow at its heart.
Steve said dully: «You saved my life, George — or at least you saved a lot of shooting. I took the chance because what I wanted was evidence. Step over there to the desk and write it all out and sign it.»
Millar said: «Is he dead?»
«He’s dead, George. You killed him. Write that too.»
Millar said quietly: «It’s funny. I wanted to finish Leopardi myself, with my own hands, when he was at the top, when he had the farthest to fall. Just finish him and then take what came. But Gaff was the guy who wanted it done cute. Gaff, the tough mug who never had any education and never dodged a punch in his life, wanted to do it smart and figure angles. Well, maybe that’s why he owned property, like that apartment house on Court Street that Jake Stoyanoff managed for him. I don’t know how he got to Dolores Chiozza’s maid. It doesn’t matter much, does it?»
Steve said: «Go and write it. You were the one called Leopardi up and pretended to be the girl, huh?»
Millar said: «Yes. I’ll write it all down, Steve. I’ll sign it and then you’ll let me go — just for an hour. Won’t you, Steve? Just an hour’s start. That’s not much to ask of an old friend, is it, Steve?»