«Ten days.»
«What were you in for?»
«Forgery.» Mallory gave the information in a soft, pleased voice.
«Been here before?»
Mallory said: «I was born here. Didn’t you know?»
Costello’s voice was gentle, almost soothing. «No-o, I didn’t know that,» he said. «What did you come for—ten days ago?»
Macdonald heaved across the room again, swinging his thick arms. He slapped Mallory across the mouth a second time, leaning past Costello’s shoulder to do it. A red mark showed on Mallory’s face. He shook his head back and forth. Dull fire was in his eyes.
«Jeeze, Costello, this crumb ain’t from McNeil. He’s ribbin’ you.» His voice blared. «Bright boy’s just a cheap chiseler from Brooklyn or K. C.—one of those hot towns where the cops are all cripples.»
Costello put a hand up and pushed gently at Macdonald’s shoulder. He said: «You’re not needed in this, Mac,» in a flat, toneless voice.
Macdonald balled his fist angrily. Then he laughed, lunged forward and ground his heel on Mallory’s foot. Mallory said: «— damn!» and sat down hard on the davenport.
The air in the room was drained of oxygen. Windows were in one wall only, and heavy net curtains hung straight and still across them. Mallory got out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead, patted his lips.
Costello said: «You and Jim check out, Mac,» in the same flat voice.
Macdonald lowered his head, stared at him steadily through a fringe of eyebrow. His face was shiny with sweat. He had not taken his shabby, rumpled overcoat off. Costello didn’t even turn his head. After a moment Macdonald barged back to the mantel, elbowed the gray-haired cop out of the way and grabbed at the square bottle of Scotch.
«Call the boss, Costello,» he blared over his shoulder. «You ain’t got the brains for this deal. For — sake do something besides talk!» He turned a little towards Jim, thumped him on the back, said sneeringly: «Did you want just one more drink, copper?»
«What did you come here for?» Costello asked Mallory again.
«Looking for a connection.» Mallory stared up at him lazily. The fire had died out of his eyes.
«Funny way you went about it, boy.»
Mallory shrugged. «I thought if I made a play I might get in touch with the right people.»
«Maybe you made the wrong kind of play,» Costello said quietly. He closed his eyes and rubbed his nose with a thumbnail. «These things are hard to figure sometimes.»
Macdonald’s harsh voice boomed across the close room. «Bright boy don’t make mistakes, mister. Not with his brains.»
Costello opened his eyes and glanced back over his shoulder at the red-haired man. The red-haired man swiveled loosely in his chair. His right hand lay along his leg, slack, half closed. Costello turned the other way, looked straight at Macdonald.
«Move out!» he snapped coldly. «Move out now. You’re drunk, and I’m not arguing with you.»
Macdonald ground his shoulders against the mantel and put his hands in the side pockets of his suit coat. His hat hung formless and crumpled on the back of his big, square head. Jim, the gray-haired cop, moved a little away from him, stared at him strainedly, his mouth working.
«Call the boss, Costello!» Macdonald shouted. «You ain’t givin’ me orders. I don’t like you well enough to take ’em.»
Costello hesitated, then moved across to the telephone. His eyes stared at a spot high up on the wall. He lifted the instrument off the prongs and dialed with his back to Macdonald. Then he leaned against the wall, smiling thinly at Mallory over the cup. Waiting.
«Hello… yes… Costello. Everything’s oke except Mac’s loaded. He’s pretty hostile… won’t move out. Don’t know yet… some out-of-town boy. Okey.»
Macdonald made a motion, said: «Hold it…»
Costello smiled and put the phone aside without haste. Macdonald’s eyes gleamed at him with a greenish fire. He spit on the carpet, in the corner between a chair and the wall. He said:
«That’s lousy. Lousy. You can’t dial Montrose from here.» Costello moved his hands vaguely. The red-haired man got to his feet. He moved away from the table and stood laxly, tilting his head back so that the smoke from his cigarette rose clear of his eyes.
Macdonald rocked angrily on his heels. His jawbone was a hard white line against his flushed face. His eyes had a deep, hard glitter.
«I guess we’ll play it this way,» he stated. He took his hands out of his pockets in a casual manner, and his blued service revolver moved in a tight, businesslike arc.
Costello looked at the red-haired man and said: «Take him, Andy.»
The red-haired man stiffened, spit his cigarette straight out from between his pale lips, flashed a hand up like lightning.
Mallory said: «Not fast enough. Look at this one.»
He had moved so quickly and so little that he had not seemed to move at all. He leaned forward a little on the davenport. The long black Luger lined itself evenly on the red-haired man’s belly.
The red-haired man’s hand came down slowly from his lapel, empty. The room was very quiet. Costello looked once at Macdonald with infinite disgust, then he put his hands out in front of him, palms up, and looked down at them with a blank smile.
Macdonald spoke slowly, bitterly. «The kidnapping is one too many for me, Costello. I don’t want any part of it. I’m takin’ a powder from this toy mob. I took a chance that bright boy might side me.»
Mallory stood up and moved sidewise towards the red-haired man. When he had gone about half the distance the gray-haired cop, Jim, let out a strangled sort of yell and jumped for Macdonald, clawing at his pocket. Macdonald looked at him with quick surprise. He put his big left hand out and grabbed both lapels of Jim’s overcoat tight together, high up. Jim flailed at him with both fists, hit him in the face twice. Macdonald drew his lips back over his teeth. Calling to Mallory, «Watch those birds,» he very calmly laid his gun down on the mantel, reached down into the pocket of Jim’s coat and took out the woven leather blackjack. He said:
«You’re a louse, Jim. You always were a louse.»
He said it rather thoughtfully, without rancor. Then he swung the blackjack and hit the gray-haired man on the side of the head. The gray-haired man sagged slowly to his knees. He clawed freely at the skirts of Macdonald’s coat. Macdonald stooped over and hit him again with the blackjack, in the same place, very hard.
Jim crumpled down sidewise and lay on the floor with his hat off and his mouth open. Macdonald swung the blackjack slowly from side to side. A drop of sweat ran down the side of his nose.
Costello said: «Rough boy, ain’t you, Mac?» He said it dully, absently, as though he had very little interest in what went on.
Mallory went on towards the red-haired man. When he was behind him he said:
«Put the hands way up, wiper.»
When the red-haired man had done this, Mallory put his free hand over his shoulder, down inside his coat. He jerked a gun loose from a shoulder-holster and dropped it on the floor behind him. He felt the other side, patted pockets. He stepped back and circled to Costello. Costello had no gun.
Mallory went to the other side of Macdonald, stood where everyone in the room was in front of him. He said:
«Who’s kidnapped?»
Macdonald picked up his gun and glass of whiskey. «The Farr girl,» he said. «They got her on her way home, I guess. It was planned when they knew from the wop bodyguard about the date at the Bolivar. I don’t know where they took her.»
Mallory planted his feet wide apart and wrinkled his nose. He held his Luger easily, with a slack wrist. He said:
«What does your little act mean?»
Macdonald said grimly: «Tell me about yours. I gave you a break.»