De Ruse smiled lazily, pleasantly. His whole body was lax in the chair. His manner had become indolent and unhurried.
«They faded,» he said softly. «They got tipped off. I don’t think that was very bright.»
Kuvalick said: «I’m an old Wells Fargo dick and I can stand a shock. What they been up to?»
«What kind of woman is Mrs. Candless?»
«Dark, a looker. Sex hungry, as the fellow says. Kind of worn and tight. They get a new chauffeur every three months. There’s a couple guys in the Casa she likes too. I guess there’s this gigolo that bopped me.»
De Ruse looked at his watch, nodded, leaned forward to get up. «I guess it’s about time for some law. Got any friends downtown you’d like to give a snatch story to?»
A voice said: «Not quite yet.»
George Dial came quickly into the room from the hallway and stood quietly inside it with a long, thin, silenced automatic in his hand. His eyes were bright and mad, but his lemon-colored finger was very steady on the trigger of the small gun.
«We didn’t fade,» he said. «We weren’t quite ready. But it might not have been a bad idea — for you two.»
Kuvalick’s pudgy hand swept for his hip holster.
The small automatic with the black tube on it made two flat dull sounds.
A puff of dust jumped from the front of Kuvalick’s coat. His hands jerked sharply away from the sides and his small eyes snapped very wide open, like seeds bursting from a pod. He fell heavily on his side against the wall, lay quite still on his left side, with his eyes half open and his back against the wall. His toupee was tipped over rakishly.
De Ruse looked at him swiftly, looked back at Dial. No emotion showed in his face, not even excitement.
He said: «You’re a crazy fool, Dial. That kills your last chance. You could have bluffed it out. But that’s not your only mistake.»
Dial said calmly: «No. I see that now. I shouldn’t have sent the boys after you. I did that just for the hell of it. That comes of not being a professional.»
De Ruse nodded slightly, looked at Dial almost with friendliness. «Just for the fun of it — who tipped you off the game had gone smash?»
«Francy — and she took her damn time about it,» Dial said savagely. «I’m leaving, so I won’t be able to thank her for a while.»
«Not ever,» De Ruse said. «You won’t get out of the state. You won’t ever touch a nickel of the big boy’s money. Not you or your sidekicks or your woman. The cops are getting the story — right now.»
Dial said: «We’ll get clear. We have enough to tour on, Johnny. So long.»
Dial’s face tightened and his hand jerked up, with the gun in it. De Ruse half closed his eyes, braced himself for the shock. The little gun didn’t go off. There was a rustle behind Dial and a tall dark woman in a gray fur coat slid into the room. A small hat was balanced on dark hair knotted on the nape of her neck. She was pretty, in a thin, haggard sort of way. The lip rouge on her mouth was as black as soot; there was no color in her cheeks.
She had a cool lazy voice that didn’t match with her taut expression. «Who is Francy?» she asked coldly.
De Ruse opened his eyes wide and his body got stiff in the chair and his right hand began to slide up towards his chest.
«Francy is my girl friend,» he said. «Mister Dial has been trying to get her away from me. But that’s all right. He’s a handsome lad and ought to be able to pick his spots.»
The tall woman’s face suddenly became dark and wild and furious. She grabbed fiercely at Dial’s arm, the one that held the gun.
De Ruse snatched for his shoulder holster, got his .38 loose. But it wasn’t his gun that went off. It wasn’t the silenced automatic in Dial’s hand. It was a huge frontier Colt with an eight-inch barrel and a boom like an exploding bomb. It went off from the floor, from beside Kuvalick’s right hip, where Kuvalick’s plump hand held it.
It went off just once. Dial was thrown back against the wall as if by a giant hand. His head crashed against the wall and instantly his darkly handsome face was a mask of blood.
He fell laxly down the wall and the little automatic with the black tube on it fell in front of him. The dark woman dived for it, down on her hands and knees in front of Dial’s sprawled body.
She got it, began to bring it up. Her face was convulsed, her lips were drawn back over thin wolfish teeth that shimmered.
Kuvalick’s voice said: «I’m a tough guy. I used to be a Wells Fargo dick.»
His great cannon slammed again. A shrill scream was torn from the woman’s lips. Her body was flung against Dial’s. Her eyes opened and shut, opened and shut. Her face got white and vacant.
«Shoulder shot. She’s okay,» Kuvalick said, and got up on his feet. He jerked open his coat and patted his chest.
«Bullet-proof vest,» he said proudly. «But I thought I’d better lie quiet for a while or he’d popped me in the face.»
TWELVE
Francine Ley yawned and stretched out a long green pajama-clad leg and looked at a slim green slipper on her bare foot. She yawned again, got up and walked nervously across the room to the kidney-shaped desk. She poured a drink, drank it quickly, with a sharp nervous shudder. Her face was drawn and tired, her eyes hollow; there were dark smudges under her eyes.
She looked at the tiny watch on her wrist. It was almost four o’clock in the morning. Still with her wrist up she whirled at a sound, put her back to the desk and began to breathe very quickly, pantingly.
De Ruse came in through the red curtains. He stopped and looked at her without expression, then slowly took off his hat and overcoat and dropped them on a chair. He took off his suit coat and his tan shoulder harness and walked over to the drinks.
He sniffed at a glass, filled it a third full of whiskey, put it down in a gulp.
«So you had to tip the louse off,» he said somberly, looking down into the empty glass he held.
Francine Ley said: «Yes. I had to phone him. What happened?»
«You had to phone the louse,» De Ruse said in exactly the same tone. «You knew damn well he was mixed up in it. You’d rather he got loose, even if he cooled me off doing it.»
«You’re all right, Johnny?» She asked softly, tiredly.
De Ruse didn’t speak, didn’t look at her. He put the glass down slowly and poured some more whiskey into it, added charged water, looked around for some ice. Not finding any he began to sip the drink with his eyes on the white top of the desk.
Francine Ley said: «There isn’t a guy in the world that doesn’t rate a start on you, Johnny. It wouldn’t do him any good, but he’d have to have it, if I knew him.»
De Ruse said slowly: «That’s swell. Only I’m not quite that good. I’d be a stiff right now except for a comic hotel dick that wears a Buntline Special and a bullet-proof vest to work.»
After a little while Francine Ley said: «Do you want me to blow?»
De Ruse looked at her quickly, looked away again. He put his glass down and walked away from the desk. Over his shoulder he said: «Not so long as you keep on telling me the truth.»
He sat down in a deep chair and leaned his elbows on the arms of it, cupped his face in his hands. Francine Ley watched him for a moment, then went over and sat on an arm of the chair. She pulled his head back gently until it was against the back of the chair. She began to stroke his forehead.
De Ruse closed his eyes. His body became loose and relaxed. His voice began to sound sleepy.
«You saved my life over at the Club Egypt maybe. I guess that gave you the right to let handsome have a shot at me.»